


Unprecedented Competition

by BrilliantLady



Series: Perfectly Normal [6]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Background Character Death, Book 4: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Gen, Harry Potter Has a Pet Snake, Harry Potter is the Heir to the House of Black, Heir of Slytherin Harry Potter, Morally Grey Harry Potter, Pagan Festivals, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Pureblood Society (Harry Potter), Religion, Sane Voldemort (Harry Potter), Smart Harry, Triwizard Tournament, Wizarding Culture (Harry Potter), Wizarding Traditions (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:47:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 89,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29296878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrilliantLady/pseuds/BrilliantLady
Summary: The Triwizard Tournament has come to Hogwarts (much to the disgust of Quidditch players), but Harry agrees with Draco that only an idiot would want to get mixed up in something that dangerous. With not one but two Lord Voldemorts out there wreaking havoc – one of whom keeps trying to befriend Harry – he has enough trouble on his plate already.
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: Perfectly Normal [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/346100
Comments: 616
Kudos: 347





	1. New Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Students are Sorted, and Harry gets in trouble in record time.

**_Thursday 1 st September 1994_ **

Harry drummed his fingers in irritation on the long wooden table in the Great Hall as the students all listened to the Sorting Hat’s new song.

“‘Power-hungry Slytherin loved those of great ambition.’ It’s a bit biased, don’t you think?” he grumbled. “The Sorting Hat made it sound like a _bad_ thing to go to Slytherin, but there’s nothing wrong with being ambitious. Salazar wasn’t a bad man you know, he only wanted power to _protect_ people. He cared a lot about the students – it’s just that he disagreed with the other Founders about the best way to go about keeping them safe. Some might say he made some bad choices, but he was acting out of the best possible motives.”

“You’re a bit defensive of Slytherin for someone who’s actually a Gryffindor, Potter,” teased Thomas, from across the table.

“I know why, too! Me mam read Lockhart’s new book,” Finnegan said. “Secret’s out, Potter, not that it was much of a secret before. Everyone knows you’re the Heir of Slytherin, now! But don’t worry mate, we know you’re a good bloke and we won’t give you a hard time about it.”

“Much,” added Thomas, with a wink.

“Ackerley, Stewart!” Professor McGonagall called out in the background, and the first trembling, rain-soaked student walked up to be Sorted.

“No-one’s going to believe me anymore about me not being the Heir now, are they?” Harry said, slumping in his chair with a sigh.

“ _Ravenclaw!_ ” shouted the Hat, eliciting loud applause.

Hermione patted Harry reassuringly on the shoulder. “Probably not, no. But we don’t mind, honestly. Smith’s related to Hufflepuff, and he doesn’t have any special badger powers! It’s just family. Besides, I still think half of the students at Hogwarts are probably related to one of the Founders – it’s such an insular and small community it’s inevitable. You were just lucky in getting to be a Parselmouth – probably just the luck of the draw in getting good genes, or something. Some Houses have talents running in their families; that’s a known fact.”

“Baddock, Malcolm!”

“ _Slytherin!_ ”

The twin Weasleys hissed loudly in disapproval at the first Slytherin to be Sorted. Harry tutted disapprovingly at them (which they didn’t even notice, being seated much further down the table) and gave Baddock a pointedly polite clap. On the other side of the Hall the Slytherin table cheered enthusiastically for their first new member.

“Yeah, lucky, that’s me,” huffed Harry. “Still, I _do_ like being able to talk to Storm. And it _was_ handy in the Chamber of Secrets. I might not have saved… been able to help save people without that.” Reminded of his pet, he fished Storm out of the satchel at his feet.

“ _Are we there yet?_ ” Storm asked sleepily, then wound his way up Harry’s arm to his shoulders. “ _Oh, yess, I sssee we are_. _Warm me._ ” He burrowed into the neckline of Harry’s robe to coil around his bare neck, seeking out Harry’s body warmth on the cold, stormy night. With the enchantments on the ceiling of the Great Hall displaying the weather outside as if the roof was made of glass it seemed less cosy inside than usual despite them all being quite dry (thanks to the judicious application of a few spells cast on each other earlier). The rain pounded down on the roof with a fierce though muted drumming, and the cloudy night sky was lit up by occasional dramatic flashes of lightning which were followed by menacing rumbles of thunder.

“Branstone, Eleanor!”

“ _Hufflepuff!_ ”

The young girl who’d just been sorted trotted eagerly over to the welcoming Hufflepuff table. Half the students there had as usual chosen to affix House-proud yellow or black ribbons or yellow canary feathers to their pointed black hats, and many of the girls wore yellow hair ribbons. Branstone’s long, loose brown hair was drenched despite the meagre protection of her hat, dripping onto her soggy black work robes and the floor. Harry saw some older students – prefects no doubt since Diggory was among them – making sure she and the next first-year Hufflepuff who scurried over both had their robes and hair all magically dried out before they settled down at the table.

“Creevey, Dennis!”

Colin’s brother was the tiniest first-year yet, Harry thought. The mousey-haired boy was soaking wet and wrapped up in Hagrid’s enormous moleskin overcoat which dragged on the ground as he walked up to the Hat, looking incredibly excited.

“ _Gryffindor!_ ”

The newest Gryffindor scurried over to his brother to a chorus of cheers, stumbling slightly as he got caught up in Hagrid’s coat, calling in shrill excitement as he approached about how he’d fallen in the lake and had gotten pushed back into his boat by something that his brother eagerly explained must have been the giant squid.

“Dobbs, Emma!”

“Do you know who got the Head Girl position this year?” Harry asked in general enquiry of everyone around him, ignoring the Sorting for a while now that Colin’s brother had been done. “I heard from Peregrine that he didn’t get Head Boy – it went to a Ravenclaw, Marcus Turner.”

“No idea,” Neville said, shaking his head.

“Lavender might know,” volunteered Hermione. “She has a cousin of some degree who’s starting seventh year who was hoping to get the spot. Do you want me to ask her?”

“If you don’t mind. I’m just curious.”

Hermione passed a note down the table to Brown, who got out a quill to scribble a reply, then passed it back, waving cheerily to them.

“Lavender’s cousin didn’t get it – Tamsin Applebee’s the Head Girl,” Hermione read out. “She’s a Chaser on the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, and Lavender says she’s a sweet girl. Though it must be admitted that she says that about a lot of people.”

“Is she the team Captain?” asked Neville.

“No, that’s still Diggory as far as I know,” Harry said.

They all applauded absent-mindedly as “McDonald, Natalie” joined the Gryffindor table. She was greeted by Ron as she sat down, who was curious to ask whether or not she was related to “that bloke who owns all those restaurants”.

“Prewett, Mafalda!”

“Oh, it’s Mafalda’s turn!” Harry said, perking up with interest.

“ _Slytherin!_ ”

Hermione sighed in disappointment. “Oh, that’s a shame. Not that there’s anything wrong with Slytherin, Harry, don’t make that face at me. I mean it’s a shame that she won’t get to be with her family. Where _is_ Ginny, anyway?”

Mafalda seemed a little anxious about her Sorting too, glancing wistfully over at the boisterous Gryffindor table, but she seemed heartened by seeing the Weasley twin’s histrionic sobs at their loss of her to another House, and Harry’s smiling applause at her Sorting. She trotted off to the Slytherin table, which seemed to welcome her heartily (relative to their restrained standards of courtesy).

She was followed to Slytherin by Graham Pritchard, and then there were just a few more students left to Sort before the feast began, ending with Zabini, Maria (who went to Ravenclaw).

Hermione was thoroughly distracted during dinner, chatting worriedly with Nearly Headless Nick about a disruption in the kitchen by Peeves that had terrified the house-elves. She picked at the food on her golden plate and ignored Ron’s attempts to lure her to eat by playfully wafting desserts under her nose.

Dumbledore’s announcements started with the usual warnings. “The Forbidden Forest, as always, is out-of-bounds. As is Hogsmeade to all first and second-year students. I am pleased to announce, however, that your recreational opportunities have been officially expanded. For last year’s ‘club room’ will now be made a permanent fixture of Hogwarts!”

That news got a happy round of cheers across the Great Hall.

“Professor Slughorn has kindly volunteered to be the supervising teacher for the club room – leaders of pre-existing clubs should see him tomorrow, before or after the day’s classes, to discuss meeting scheduling.”

Slughorn waved jovially to the crowd from the staff table, before folding his hands contentedly over his corpulent belly that strained the gold buttons on his maroon silk waistcoat after the evening’s feasting.

“Any new clubs and study groups will need to work around reserved times,” continued Dumbledore. “Please consult the new noticeboard just inside the club room door from Saturday onwards for details. The room itself has been enlarged, with an archway added through to an adjoining previously empty classroom, and many furnishings have been added including some desks and sofas.”

That announcement went down smoothly, however, the Headmaster’s shift to the sad news that the inter-house Quidditch Cup would be cancelled was unexpected and a tremendous shock to all the Gryffindor Quidditch team members whose jaws gaped – they looked too appalled to even speak.

Dumbledore had just started to announce the new event that would be on that year instead – presumably the Triwizard Tournament that Draco had told Harry and his friends about – when he was interrupted mid-sentence by the dramatic arrival of their new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Moody. The scarred new professor clomped his way to the staff table with a backdrop of booming thunder, while flashes of lightning streaked across the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall and the majority of the hall watched his silent procession in wary silence.

“I suspect this will not be your year for breaking your run of having Defence teachers attack you, Harry,” whispered Neville, eyes wide with fear at the man’s intimidating visage.

“That’s Alastor Moody,” Harry whispered back. “I’ve met him already. Sirius said he used to be an Auror, but he’s retired now. Fingers crossed he breaks the pattern, surely being an Auror will help me there. But... well… I’m not sure this will be my year either. He’s an odd bloke.”

After a very unimpressive patter of token applause for their unnerving new teacher, Dumbledore explained how Hogwarts would be hosting the Triwizard Tournament, with students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang arriving in October. He promised that no champion would find themselves in mortal danger, unlike in past Tournaments which had been discontinued due to the rising death toll.

“ _Death toll?_ ” Hermione whispered, looking alarmed.

Harry shuddered. “ _Normal_ schools don’t _need_ to reassure you that no-one will die during an inter-school sports competition. Hogwarts is crazy sometimes.”

“A thousand Galleons! I’m going for it!” vowed Ron excitedly, on her other side.

“Are you going to enter, Harry?” Neville asked, looking thoughtful.

“Did you not hear the bit about the _death toll_?” Hermione asked incredulously. She was in a minority for being wary about the competition, however, and the Gryffindor table, at least, was abuzz with excited whispers.

Harry felt a little relieved to hear there would be an age limit imposed, with no students under seventeen allowed to enter, but Ron was appalled. “No Quidditch! And no Tournament either?! This is unbelievable. I was supposed to be Keeper this year! Now I can’t even enter the stupid Tournament! I need that money… _we_ need that money!”

Further down the table, his twin brothers could be glimpsed fuming even more angrily, having only missed the age cut-off by a handful of months.

“…I hope you will give your whole-hearted support to the Hogwarts champion when he or she is selected,” Dumbledore concluded. “Now, I know it is late, so before you all head off to bed we shall conclude with two short songs performed by our ‘Frog Choir’, led by Professor Flitwick in their maiden performance. First, we have an adaption of Celestina Warbeck’s ‘Toil and Trouble’, which will be followed by the school song. If you are interested in joining the school choir, please meet at ten on Saturday morning in the club room for auditions. Let us give them a welcoming round of applause as they gather!”

The students clapped politely as a scattering of students left all four House tables to make their way down the aisles to gather in front of the teachers’ table. There were mostly Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs in the choir, but a few students joined them from the other two Houses.

They choir did a great job and looked thrilled at the enthusiastic applause at the end of their a cappella songs, and their audience (with a few rare exceptions like the Weasley twins) were just as excited to have the school song be set to an actual _melody_ at last.

“Oh, that was _so_ much better than last year,” Hermione said approvingly, as she clapped. “I never understood why Dumbledore thought letting everyone pick their own tune was a good idea. I guess he thought it was funny, but it _wasn’t_. It was just a chaotic din.”

“Definitely,” agreed Harry, rising from the table as everyone started heading up towards their dorms in a slow shuffling queue down the aisles and into the hallways. “I still remember the horrible shock that was first year’s school song. It was nice to see all the Houses singing together too, wasn’t it? Did you know Daphne was in the choir? I didn’t know!”

“It was a surprise to me too,” Hermione said.

“I knew,” said Neville. “She mentioned the practices once – she said it is a good opportunity to build relationships across the House boundaries. Also, she likes singing.”

One of the Weasley twins came up to them while they chatted, pushing through the tide going the other way. “Say Potter, have you seen Ginny? Did you talk to her, or did you hear what upset her? I heard she left the table in tears.”

“Oh! Sorry, no, nothing to do with me. I haven’t seen her since the train, actually.”

The ginger-haired twin huffed in frustration.

“Do you want me to check on her?” asked Hermione. “Since you can’t get into the girls’ dorm?”

“If you don’t mind. Tell her I was asking after her – Fred, that is – and let her know that if she is upset about me planning to try and get in the Triwizard Tournament even though I won’t be old enough, well… Tell her that the money’s good and that of course I would of course be very careful not to get hurt. Or… if it’s something else that has upset her – like if someone gave her a hard time about dad – will you find out for us? Things have been hard, lately, and I think she is feeling the strain,” he said, looking pensive.

“I’ll tell her,” Hermione promised, and he shook her hand in thanks before heading back to his friends.

“Poor thing,” she added, once he was out of earshot. “She must be scared she’ll lose her brother. I don’t think she needs to worry – Dumbledore won’t let anyone underage enter the competition, he made that quite clear.”

“Theoretically he keeps the twins out of the Forbidden Forest,” Harry pointed out.

“Ah. Good point,” Hermione conceded, with a nod.

The crowd of students thinned out as the Houses split off, and the Gryffindors headed towards Gryffindor Tower.

Colin Creevey dragged his brother Dennis over to where Harry and his friends were walking and gave a little bow of greeting. “Hello again, Harry!” he said excitedly. “Isn’t it great that Dennis got into Gryffindor?!”

Harry tipped his pointed hat in greeting, giving a short nod as he did so. “It is indeed. Welcome to Gryffindor, Creevey,” he said politely to Dennis.

“Hello! It’s fabulous to be here!” the youngest Creevey said, grinning toothily, and copying his brother’s bow, which earnt him another nod from Harry. “Say, Colin, isn’t he going to bow back?”

“Oh no, he outranks us, remember? Being the Heir of one of the old Noble families!” explained Colin.

“I’m actually now also the Heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, as well,” added Harry.

“-And Slytherin!” added Finnegan, from behind them.

Harry shrugged. “Yes, I suppose. So really the bow should be a bit lower, technically.”

“Like this?” Colin asked, putting his right hand across his chest as he tried a deeper bow.

“Is this new? When did that happen, you being Heir of the Black family?” asked Hermione, turning to Harry. “Is there a new family connection you’ve uncovered in your family tree? Greg won’t tell me what’s in mine – he keeps saying I have to wait for my birthday.”

“Yes, that bow is better,” Harry said to the Creeveys, before answering Hermione. “It was during the holidays – Sirius made me his Heir, due to the connection through my paternal grandmother. He didn’t want it to be Draco who’s the other best candidate, as he’s not keen on the Malfoys.”

Hermione nodded approvingly.

“The Black family portraits _love_ Harry,” volunteered Neville, with a teasing smile for Harry.

Dennis tried a deeper bow like his brother had, and as Harry was correcting him on the importance of keeping a straight back while doing so. He also lectured about how bowing deeply was really only important when first meeting someone who was very traditional, or at a dance or formal occasion, and shallower bows or covert nods of the head or tipping one’s hat would usually suffice at other times. Professor McGonagall suddenly hove into view. She looked _furious_.

“What in Merlin’s name do you think you are doing, Mr. Potter?! Mr. Creevey!”

“Oh, ah, just a quick etiquette lesson,” Harry said, with an apologetic nod. “Was I holding people up? I didn’t mean to. Sorry.”

She seemed relatively content with Colin’s chastened brief and instant apology, but she did not look at _all_ happy with Harry’s response – her mouth got even thinner, and her eyes narrower. “You are teaching the Creeveys to _bow to you_ , Potter. That is _not_ acceptable behaviour here at Hogwarts – you are not the superior to Muggle-borns or anyone else because of your blood status! Ten points from Gryffindor, and it would be more if our House had _earnt_ more but that is all we have accumulated to lose thus far!”

“Sorry, professor. I was just teaching them about the different kinds of bows, professor. Just the etiquette, for formal occasions. I’m not being a blood purist or anything!” Harry said defensively.

“That is _precisely_ what you were being. A word in private, I think,” she said, pointing imperiously towards a nearby classroom door. Harry slunk inside obediently, shoulders hunched in response to the weighty stares of all his classmates as they watched him being dressed down by their Head of House.

“I am _deeply_ disappointed in you, Mr. Potter,” McGonagall said, the instant the door had closed behind them. “To think that I should have to give this lecture to _you_! To some of my first-year pure-bloods, perhaps, but you are in fourth year now, and should know better!”

“I’m not a blood purist, honestly I’m not. Hermione and all the other Muggle-borns are just as good as I am, I know that,” Harry reassured her earnestly. “I only follow the etiquette, and I usually keep it quiet, sorry. I don’t promote the beliefs.”

McGonagall shook her head, her mouth in a thin angry line. “No, you are acting _exactly_ like a blood purist, Potter, and you are not just tolerating but actively _promoting_ those beliefs. Every time you do something like scurry to greet someone from an ‘Ancient’ family first when you enter a room because they rank above you in precedence, and every time you demand or expect that a Muggle-born should bow more deeply to you because the Potters are considered a ‘Noble’ family, you reinforce those prejudices. You tell the world with your obsolescent greetings that you think you are better – or more lowly – than someone else just because of who your family is. That you deserve respect because of the family you were born into – as if that is some great accomplishment of yours worthy of esteem, and not simply a matter of _luck_.

“Is that the kind of lesson you really want the Creeveys to learn? That they should grovel before pure-bloods, and _know their place_? Is that being _truly_ welcoming of newcomers to our world?”

Harry’s face crumpled in regret at the thought the Creeveys might have taken his lesson that way. “I’m sorry, professor! I was just trying to help them fit in. Learn the customs, so they’d know what to expect and could be polite to people. I wasn’t trying to be insulting!”

Professor McGonagall’s face softened as she laid a compassionate hand on his shoulder. “Mr. Potter, I am sure you meant well, but what you just taught them is that Muggle-borns are lesser. That their rank is below that of the old pure-blood families. I won’t tolerate that kind of bigotry at Hogwarts. Not all customs are worth preserving purely for the sake of ‘tradition’. Who convinced you such a thing was a necessary?”

“Pansy told me it was important years ago,” he confessed, “and it seemed like a good idea. To be courteous to everyone and try and fit in. She wasn’t the only one, but I guess she brought it up first. Please don’t get her in trouble, though. It was years ago, and she didn’t mean any harm, and she did tell me I shouldn’t do it at Hogwarts. I just forgot.”

“Why would you give her opinion so much weight, when plenty of your other friends like Longbottom and Weasley don’t follow all those bigoted old-fashioned traditions?”

“Well, she’s _family_. Of course I should listen to her,” Harry explained. It was obvious, really, but his professor didn’t seem to find it so.

“That’s not a good enough reason at all, Mr. Potter. Other students look up to you, and you must learn to set a good example! I’m afraid to say you and the elder Mr. Creevey will both be serving detention with me on Saturday. Two hours of writing lines – ‘I am no better, and no worse, than anyone else at Hogwarts just because of who my family is. We are all witches and wizards here, and of equal rank. We may all mix with whomsoever we choose. I will not promulgate the doctrines of blood purity.’ I hope it will remind you of what your parents fought and died for,” she finished in stern rebuke.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, cowed and slightly ashamed.

“We are not tolerant here at Hogwarts of prejudice on the basis of rank, Mr. Potter. All students are to be regarded as equal, regardless of family status, blood heritage, or respective level of magical talents. If I hear _one more word_ of you boasting about being the Heir of Slytherin and demanding special treatment because of that, that will be just the start – you will be in detention for _months_ ,” she added, wagging her finger at him warningly.

“Yes, ma’am. I mean, no ma’am, I won’t.”

She swept off with a swirl of robes to rejoin her place escorting the first-year Gryffindors up to their dorm, and presumably to talk with the Creeveys as well.

Harry was freed to slink out of the classroom and back to his shocked friends, ashamed and thoughtful. He hadn’t questioned the rules of etiquette, he’d just learnt them, trying to make Pansy and all his new friends happy that he was striving to fit in. He still didn’t _really_ see a big problem with bowing in general, but he did get the painful point that it was sometimes very tied in with beliefs about blood purity.

-000-

Early the next morning Harry was pounced upon by Hermione and Lavender Brown the instant he emerged with Neville into the Common Room.

“At last! We’ve been waiting for you to leave your dorm,” Hermione said to him with relief, which Harry thought was a bit unfair as it was still hours before Friday’s classes would start. He wondered if she was going to tell him off about his bowing lesson last night and subsequent detention, but thankfully another matter had her thoroughly distracted for the time being.

“Eloise needs your help,” Brown confided in a whisper. “She’s _hexed her nose off_.”

“What? How? What do you mean?” Harry said, very confused. “Where is she?”

“She had some awful pimples, and she tried to get rid of them this morning by hexing them off! No nose. It has fallen off – like she Splinched it.”

“Oh Merlin! Is it bleeding? Has she still got her nose?”

“No, it’s not bleeding, and yes, Midgen’s got her nose,” Hermione answered. “Separate from the rest of her, but she has it.”

“She refuses to come down or to see Madam Pomfrey, she is just _so_ embarrassed,” Brown explained. “She wants to know if you can help her, without anyone seeing.”

Harry blinked, and said slowly, “I don’t know, that sounds tricky, and while I’ve _heard_ of the spells to reverse Splinching, I’ve never practised them. I think she should go to the Hospital Wing.”

“She is really mortified to think that anyone might see her like this, though. She has been crying – she is a mess. Are you sure you won’t help?” wheedled Brown.

“I wrote down the spell Midgen used,” Hermione said, “and the wand movements.”

She passed over a slip of parchment to Harry. “I thought it might help.”

Harry looked at it and frowned. “Well, this was a terrible spell she chose, no wonder it went wrong. This is a spot-remover spell for cleaning and restoring _marble_. I actually read about it recently in a book on enchanted statuary and old stonework. It gets rid of blemishes, but I suspect it’s only intended for statues and balustrades. I doubt you should use it on your face. I’m not even going to _try_ reversing that – too much could go wrong.” He’d been planning to use the spell in his ongoing efforts to clean up the Chamber of Secrets and thought it might help clean Ambrosius’ mosaic (though he was worried it might be too powerful a spell for the tiny glass-like tiles), or at least some of the tougher statues.

“Oh. That’s fair enough,” Hermione said.

“Poor Eloise,” sighed Lavender. “I suppose she will have to just hide her face on the way to the Hospital Wing.”

“Sorry,” Harry apologised. “Tell her to use Boil Cure Potion next time – it’s much safer and more effective. I don’t have any in stock, but if she can help out with the ingredients, I’d be happy to brew some when I have time if she’s not a confident Potioneer. She should remember it’s _topical_ – you don’t drink it.”

“Undiluted Bubotuber pus is an excellent remedy for spots as well,” piped up Neville. “It has to be applied while it is fresh, though.”

The girls hustled off to break the bad news to Midgen, who emerged with her pointed hat pulled low over her face, surrounded by an escort of all her female dormmates as she was hurried off to see Madam Pomfrey.

-000-

The Weasley twins sat with Harry and his friends at breakfast, to gather gossip about their sister and share what they’d learnt about how Susan Bones had managed to return to Hogwarts despite being infected with lycanthropy.

Hermione reported in with her news first. “Ginny’s not upset about the Tournament – the Headmaster promised it would be safe and for good or ill she has faith in that, and wishes you luck, Fred.”

He nodded, but his freckled face still looked grave rather than resuming its typical cheerful expression they were all more accustomed to seeing. “So, what is it then? Is she worried about dad, or Bill?”

“No – it’s not family stuff at all, though no doubt that’s not helping her stress levels,” Hermione said. “She ran off from the feast because some kids were giving her a hard time about the _Battles with the Basilisk_ book. They didn’t believe her about the spirit in the book being You-Know-Who, not Grindelwald’s son, and they were teasing her about being so stupid as to keep writing in a cursed book without telling anyone. Especially given she should know better since spotting things like that is literally her father’s job… or was. You know, Lockhart’s book isn’t very kind to her – pointing out how dangerous it is for students not to learn about the Dark Arts, and how at risk even young pure-bloods can be if left untaught of the world’s dangers – gullible and foolish in their ignorance. It really had a bit of a different style to his other books, don’t you think, Harry?”

Harry twitched guiltily. “Oh, ah, yes. A bit.” He hadn’t thought about the effect Lockhart’s – Voldemort’s – editorial changes might have had on Ginny. “He changed quite a few things in his later drafts. Some at the last minute. I had nothing to do with those, by the way. I think he didn’t want to risk offending… You-Know-Who. By telling secrets or being insulting to him.”

“I haven’t read the book yet,” said Fred Weasley. “His others were such rubbish that I didn’t bother.”

“Me either,” agreed his twin. “They were fun, but useless. It sounds like he changed a lot of details from what really happened, though. We should probably find out what.”

Hermione agreed that Lockhart had made changes but defended her hero on the grounds of “dramatic necessity” and “common sense”. She offered to lend her copy of the book to them since she’d read it twice already, and they gratefully accepted (Harry’s gifted copy to their mother having already been dispatched via owl late the previous night). They also weaselled out of her a couple of names of Ginny’s tormentors, with a concession that they wouldn’t do anything that would harm them.

After that was all sorted out, George Weasley asked, “So, did you want to hear about Susan Bones?”

They were all eager to hear the gossip, and he launched into the story, aided intermittently by his brother.

“She’s not a Hogwarts student any longer – werewolves aren’t allowed to come to Hogwarts. Professor Lupin only managed it because he hid what he was while he was a student. Frankly it’s impressive that no-one got in serious trouble for that.”

“He’s a good man, by the way,” added his twin. “Don’t believe what the _Daily Prophet_ says about him.”

“We don’t,” promised Hermione.

“So, technically Bones is now a _Durmstrang_ student, and is officially part of the contingent come to try their luck in the Triwizard Tournament.”

“She just happens to have arrived a couple of months early,” said Fred Weasley, smirking a little.

“It’s a loophole – Durmstrang allows magically talented young werewolves and vampires to enrol–”

“If their blood is ‘pure’ enough,” his brother interrupted, with a roll of his eyes.

“Under British law she still gets to use her wand until her lycanthropy is proven at the first full moon, which takes her halfway through September. After that it’s only a few more weeks until the Durmstrang Headmaster arrives with the visiting students. So, she’ll only need to be without her wand for a couple of weeks until she falls under their Headmaster’s jurisdiction and can wield it again. It’s a good joke, isn’t it! Nice to see old Dumbledore getting one past the Ministry like that.”

“I am very happy for her, but what about the problem that she is too young to have a chance of competing?” worried Neville.

“Technically, the other schools can bring whomever they like, it is simply that it’s not sensible to bring students too young to enter. Karkaroff – that’s their Headmaster – agreed to Dumbledore’s plan, which must have taken some smooth talking,” George Weasley said, sounding impressed.

“What about next year?” Harry asked.

“Bones is hoping her Aunt Amelia and Dumbledore will have changed some laws by then. May a lucky star shine on that plan. However… she said it can’t happen too fast,” said Fred Weasley.

“We can’t give in to terrorist attacks,” agreed his brother.

“Our dad said if the Ministry starts instantly start changing laws in favour of werewolf rights, Fenrir and his ilk will think their strategy works – that if they infect enough people they’ll get everything they want. That it will lead to _more_ attacks, not less.”

“It makes sense,” agreed Hermione, “but it’s _horrible_.”

“I agree, and Bones sort of does too. Though, she’s obviously pretty broken up about losing her cives class citizenship and wand rights, and maybe having to move overseas next year.”

“How is she physically?” asked Harry. “I know your dad isn’t even out of St. Mungo’s yet.”

“She was not nearly as hurt as dad or Bill – Auror Shacklebolt saved her from that fate, may he rest in peace. She got treated by Healer Obasi, who specialises in creature-induced injuries. She only had a few fine scratches on her back. Shallow, but enough to infect her, unfortunately. It is pretty much guaranteed she will be a werewolf, but you never know.”

Gryffindor prefects dropped off their timetables, and Hermione eagerly looked hers over right away, checking out the column for Friday first, to see what they’d be starting with that morning.

“History of Magic, DADA, and Charms before lunch,” she said, sounding excited. “Double Potions in the afternoon. Arithmancy on Monday – that’s not too long to wait!”

“Is there anything you are _not_ looking forward to?” Neville asked, sounding amused.

Hermione bit her lip with her large front teeth as she pondered his question. “Astronomy,” she decided eventually. “Midnight on Tuesdays. It’s just too late at night – it messes up my sleep and makes keeping to a proper study schedule harder. I don’t think I want to take it at NEWT level. Or History of Magic, for that matter.”

“Anything with the Hufflepuffs, where we can catch up with Bones?” asked Neville, serving himself some extra sausages.

“Herbology on Monday and Wednesday mornings,” Hermione pronounced, after a quick skim of the timetable. “My Arithmancy class is with the Hufflepuffs, but she didn’t pick that elective.”

“Well, I’d better get going,” Harry said, arranging his cutlery in neat parallel lines on his plate – the sign that the house-elves could whisk his plate away whenever they were ready. “I have to check in with some people about Potter Watch before seeing Professor Slughorn – the junior group will need a new leader now Percy’s graduated.”

“Ooh! Can I join in with the senior group too this year, Harry?” Hermione pleaded.

“Sure, I guess. Maybe I should make them less based on year, and more on ability. What do you think?”

“That sounds great!” Hermione said, bouncing excitedly in her seat. “You could set exams to progress to the next group early! Have you worked out a curriculum for this year, yet?”

Harry chatted with her for a while about his nascent plans for new spells to cover from some of the books he’d been reading over the holidays, before she dashed off to talk to Professor Slughorn about reserving the club room for her monthly H.E.L.P. Society meetings. Harry wanted to make sure he had his group leaders lined up before talking to their Potions professor and decided to start by quickly checking in with Angelina Johnson. He knew the dark-skinned sixth-year a little from his brief foray into Quidditch as she’d been a Gryffindor Chaser for years now, but he knew her better these days as one of the senior group Potter Watch members.

He awkwardly explained to Johnson how she was actually his back-up choice to lead the junior Potter Watch group. “I was hoping you might agree to help out if Diggory doesn’t want to lead the group,” he said nervously. “I don’t know if he’ll want to… all things considered. You heard about that, right? He lost his dad in the attack at the World Cup. Anyway, I just think it would be polite to ask him first.”

“Yes, I read it in the paper. It’s alright if you keep me as a back-up. I would be honoured to help out with your club if you decide you need me,” Johnson promised. “Poor Diggory, losing his father like that.”

Johnson bowed her head for a moment, looking sad, before she continued. “If he wants the job of leading the junior group, it is all his, and if he wants me to help out as co-leader, or if he would rather I took over the job on my own instead, that would be alright too. Whatever he prefers is fine by me – I don’t mind either way. Oh, and I could also help you as an extra tutor for the middle group, if you don’t need me for the juniors.”

“Thank you,” murmured Harry, with relief. “That’s a great idea!”

 _That went well_ , he thought happily. _Even better than I’d hoped._

He headed off to the Slytherin table next. Hopefully Peregrine Derrick would be on board to tutor again, even though it was his NEWT year. He said brief hellos to all his Slytherin friends on his way past them to find Peregrine. Millicent looked very grumpy that morning as she glared at her plate of bacon and toast like it had personally offended her somehow but perked up and looked thoughtful at Harry’s casual cheery greetings to them all as he breezed past.

With only a short consultation required to settle things, Harry quickly confirmed that Peregrine was more than happy to keep leading the senior group meetings twice a month. He then headed towards the Hufflepuff table. On his way past the younger Slytherins at the end of the table, Harry spotted Mafalda Prewett and stopped to greet her.

“Good morning, Mafalda,” he said politely. “Congratulations on getting Sorted into Slytherin, I am sure you’ll make your new House proud.”

“Thank you, Harold!” she said, beaming happily. As he left, Harry noticed out of the corner of his eye that she was subtly besieged by other tiny first-year Slytherins after that, all leaning in to gossip quietly with her.

Harry didn’t see Bones at the Hufflepuff table, and Macmillan whispered to him conspiratorially that she’d left breakfast early with her friends – she’d found everyone’s stares too hard to bear.

Diggory was still there, however, slowly finishing off a bowl of porridge. Diggory’s friends glared warningly at Harry as he approached – one of them, a brown-haired tall boy, pushed away from the table to intercept him in the aisle.

“He doesn’t want to talk about it,” the burly senior warned in a deep voice, blocking Harry’s way forward.

“Umm…” Harry started hesitantly. “I just wanted to offer my condolences. I totally understand he wouldn’t want to talk about… the attack at the World Cup. I wasn’t going to ask him about it, I promise.”

“Thank you. I will pass your message on to him later,” the Hufflepuff said, softening slightly as the warning glare left his eyes.

“Also, could you ask him if he’d like to be the group leader for the junior Potter Watch group this year? He doesn’t have to – Johnson from Gryffindor says she’s happy to do it if he’s not interested, or they can work together. Whatever he wants. I just thought… maybe he would like to stay busy. He’s great with young kids – being a prefect – and good at all his spells. I don’t know,” Harry said, scrubbing at the back of his neck with one hand. “Maybe it was a dumb idea. Please let him know he really doesn’t have to if he doesn’t want to.”

“It’s a kind thought. I will let him know, and I will have someone get a message back to you if he still isn’t ready to talk to anyone,” the boy promised.

Harry caught Diggory’s eye for a moment as he departed and nodded to him in brief wordless sympathy. Diggory smiled wanly back at him, then turned back to his porridge.

While he kept his face calm, Harry castigated himself silently. He’d thought it would be a good idea to invite Diggory to help out in the defence group, but maybe it had actually been a dreadful plan, and not at all well thought through. He should have talked it over with someone else first and gotten a second opinion. The badgers were rallying around their friend Diggory to ward off unwanted enquiries and shallow offerings of sympathy – if the socially savvy house good at friendship didn’t want Diggory bothered, it must be inappropriate. At least in this particular case. Harry didn’t want to be a bother, however, he feared that despite his good intentions that was exactly what he’d been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again everyone! I hope you’re excited to see the series back again. :) A special thank you to those reviewers who left me encouraging messages urging me to continue with this series during the long quiet time since “Extraordinary Summer” finished posting.  
> The League of Extraordinary British Betas – I’ve consulted this group on FB a lot for the fic, tweaking little things here and there to be more accurately British (I’m Australian so I have to check spelling, vocab, and facts for both US *and* UK fandoms). Thanks, everyone! Many other spot checkers have assisted polish bits of this work, and many readers’ comments have inspired me; thanks will be left on the relevant chapters.  
> Any remaining errors are my own responsibility (and readers are welcome to politely point out typos, grammatical errors, or perceived inconsistencies with canon or previous fics in this series). My usual wonderful beta is alas very busy and is unable to currently assist me – she works in the healthcare industry so I 100% support her in not spending her very limited free time working on fic editing right now.


	2. Unforgiveable Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and his friends learn about the Unforgiveable Curses. They also discuss something even more unforgiveable – the cancellation of the 1994-95 Hogwarts Quidditch season.

**_Friday 2 nd September 1994_ **

History of Magic was just as dull as ever and was used as an opportunity for a few panicked Gryffindor students like Ron to furtively finish off their last-minute holiday essays for Charms.

“Writing two feet on ‘What is your favourite charm and why?’ should have been the easiest thing in the world,” Hermione scoffed as they left the classroom.

“Except maybe for the length,” teased Harry. “How many feet did you write?”

“…Three,” she admitted, which made Neville laugh.

“My first draft was four feet long!” she added defensively. “I cut a _lot_!”

They hurried to Defence Against the Dark Arts, and followed Hermione to seats in the front row, getting out their books.

“I still can’t believe our teacher picked the same book that we used in _first_ year,” grumbled Harry. “I hope we learn _some_ new spells.”

“Shh! He’s coming!” said Neville nervously, and the whole class waited quietly as Professor Moody’s distinctive clunking footsteps came down the corridor and he entered the room.

For different reasons, both Harry and Ron were eager to put their books away when Moody growled out an order for the class to do so. After the roll was called, Moody launched into a review of what they’d covered in previous classes.

“Now, this year you’ll be learning about curses. Illegal Dark curses. According to the Ministry of Magic, I am supposed to teach you counter-curses and leave it at that. In their estimable opinion you have no need to know the curses themselves until NEWT level, and they think you are not old enough to cope with that knowledge yet. But Professor Dumbledore thinks otherwise. He has a high opinion of your nerves and reckons you can cope. He and I think the sooner you know what you are up against, the better,” Moody said.

Moody glanced around the room in an unnerving fashion as his magical eye swivelled around the room to catch any hint of movement, like Brown showing Patil her Charms homework under the desk, which earned the girls a swift rebuke.

“You cannot defend yourself against a curse you have never seen, that you know nothing about. You need to be _ready_ ,” insisted Moody, as he resumed his lecture. “A wizard about to curse you will not warn you politely about what he is casting at you. You have scant seconds to react with the right shield or counter-curse, and if you take too long to think or you guess wrong, well, you might end up as pretty as me!”

He pointed to his glassy right eye as he finished the last sentence with a grin, and then tapped his nose where a chunk was missing from it, and then pointed to a few of the larger and uglier scars criss-crossing his face.

Lavender Brown wasn’t the only person in the room who shuddered at the thought of ending up like that. Harry felt a bit ill himself, remembering poor Arthur Weasley who might indeed look a lot like Moody now, with a missing eye and all. At least he still had both his legs, even though they’d been badly clawed and bitten.

Moody lectured them on the Unforgiveable Curses: the Imperius, the Cruciatus, and last of all, the Killing Curse. The demonstrations of their effects on engorged spiders horrified everyone, to a greater or lesser extent.

Harry stared at the dead spider on the floor, remembering the memories induced by the Boggart-Dementor last year. His mother running up the stairs with him to the nursery. Carving a rune on his forehead. Pleading with Voldemort for Harry’s life, as he offered to spare her. The flash of green light and the horrifying thud as her body hit the ground.

Neville gently nudged Harry’s side with a covert elbow. “You okay?” he whispered. “That one must have been as hard for you as the Cruciatus was for me.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay,” reassured Harry, forcing a smile as fake as Neville’s own was.

“CONSTANT VIGILANCE!” roared Moody, which caused most of the class to jump. Harry and Neville, however, had been more distracted due to their whispered conversation and had missed what their teacher had been lecturing about, so were even more startled than the rest of the students. Harry automatically ducked down and covered his head with his hands, while Neville let out a frightened “Eep!” and almost tipped over backwards in his chair as he recoiled in instinctual fear.

Moody gave a ghastly grin to them both – perhaps he _meant_ it to look reassuring, it was hard to tell – then resumed his lecture on the Unforgiveable Curses as the class took notes.

As Moody covered the history and casting method of the Killing Curse in more detail, Harry frowned and put his hand up. It startled Neville out of his brooding and quiet note-taking. Usually it was only Hermione who dared to interrupt a teacher in the middle of their monologue with questions.

“Yes, boy?”

“It’s Potter, sir,” Harry said, sounding at least outwardly courteous. He hated it when people called him ‘boy’. “You keep saying that there’s no counter-curse for the Killing Curse, and that’s certainly true, but I wondered if you are going to cover the other kinds of defences against it soon.”

There was a murmur of impressed interest and curiosity from his classmates on hearing his question.

“An expert on the topic, are you?”

“Certainly not as much as you are sir, as a retired Auror. However, I have read every book or story about the Killing Curse I could get my hands on. So, I know that while what you said about there being no magical counter or shield is _technically_ correct, there are still several ways to defend against it.”

“Not counting being Harry Potter,” Moody said, with an odd gruff laugh.

“Yes, not counting that,” he agreed, looking rather embarrassed and glancing away as he thought about his mother’s runic circle hidden under his cot, and the scar on his face.

“Name a half dozen methods that would let a wizard survive when someone casts the Killing Curse at you, and you’ll earn yourself twenty points for Sly… I’m sorry, for Gryffindor,” their teacher said with a toothy grin, making a couple of students in the class snicker.

“Dodging out of the way.”

“One. Easy answer. Give me something better,” Professor Moody demanded.

“Blocking it by hiding behind a physical object, like a thick stone wall or fence. I’ve read about two Aurors who used that to survive multiple Killing Curses being cast at them in the last war. You were one of them, in fact.”

“Good. Two.”

“A conjured or transfigured physical barrier – like summoning up an earthen wall. Or a conjured _living_ barrier, like a snake or a flock of birds.”

Hermione, Harry noticed, was frantically taking notes as he spoke, which was quite flattering.

“Three and four. Keep going, now it’s getting interesting!” Moody said.

Blocking with another person was another method, but Harry didn’t want to say that one out loud. It would sound bad. It was true that some Death Eaters had resorted to summoning their enemies into the way of an Auror’s Killing Curse to kill them off through ‘friendly fire’ in the last war, but Harry didn’t want to talk about that strategy. He thought of something else to volunteer instead.

“Lack of intent – the Killing Curse requires the desire to kill on the part of the caster.”

“That isn’t something you can control. Well… except with the Imperius Curse, perhaps. So, I will grant you that point on a technicality. Just one more, Potter.”

“Apparition. The Killing Curse is a targeted ray. If you can get away in time, you’re safe.”

Moody shook his head. “Not many people can Disapparate quickly and well under stress. Certainly not at your age, without training. Very dubious, that one.”

“But it’s theoretically possible,” countered Harry. “I didn’t say any of them would be _easy_. Well, except maybe lack of killing intent. If you’re lucky and you can talk your way into getting your enemy hesitating about killing you.

“But, if you don’t think it counts, well… disarming your opponent with Expelliarmus is another method that will work if you’re fast enough to interrupt the incantation. You’d probably need to cast that non-verbally to be quick enough, though.”

“Twenty points for Gryffindor!” yelled Moody, grinning as half the class flinched again in their seats at the sudden noise. “Now there’s a lad who’s not going to be caught napping without a plan. No-one’s going to catch him and give him a matching scar!”

Moody spun quickly and pointed his wand at Harry, who reflexively tumbled out of his chair and ducked down behind a desk in panic.

“ _Protego!_ ” Harry yelled. A shimmering golden shield of force appeared in front of him where he cowered on the floor, waiting for the spells to start.

“CONSTANT VIGILANCE!” yelled Moody again with glee.

He laughed rather maniacally for a moment before cutting it off with an embarrassed cough. “Thought I was going to kill you, did you boy? Good lad. Trust no-one! Take another ten points for Sl… Gryffindor. Your Shield Charm wouldn’t have helped you if I _had_ been casting the Killing Curse, mind you. It would go straight through, as I think you well know. The desk and chair legs might have helped a _little_. Work on those reflexes, Potter!”

Harry picked himself up off the floor warily and dropped his Shield charm, eyeing his Professor worriedly. Watching his face for shifts of expression, watching his hands for sudden movement.

“Mental,” breathed Ron in unadulterated awe, watching Moody. “Totally mental.”

Neville – still in his seat – had his wand out and pointed at their teacher. Trembling, but pointed in unspoken threat.

Moody’s false eye had rolled slightly in its socket to look at Neville, while his normal eye kept gazing straight at Harry. “Ten points to Gryffindor for Longbottom, who is the _only_ one in this class of brave lions who was ready to fight, and who is _still_ waiting to be sure the fight is _actually_ _over_ before lowering his wand. Old duelling etiquette that is, and damn good common sense to boot. Alright lad, it’s finished, you can relax now.” Moody’s scarred face looked rather frightening as he grinned again. He lazily swished his wand in a salute against his chest before lowering it and putting it away at last, which Neville took as his cue to do likewise. Neville cautiously helped Harry up, watching Moody warily.

“It’s not over until he puts his wand away,” murmured Neville as he sat down. Harry wasn’t sure Neville was actually addressing to him as he spoke – there was a lost, faraway look in his eyes, like he was thinking of something or someone else.

Neville blinked and brightened up as he added happily, “I got ten points! I _was_ rather brave, wasn’t I, Harry? I shall write and tell Gran all about it.”

Hermione earnt Gryffindor five extra points too, as she finally judged it was socially acceptable to thrust her hand up into the air to eagerly volunteer her own suggestion of the Silencing Charm as being another potential defence against the Killing Curse, or indeed any of the Unforgiveables, which the well-read knew were notoriously difficult to cast silently.

The rest of the lesson went more quickly, as Professor Moody started lecturing about the weaknesses of Shield Charms against the three Unforgiveables, and soon enough they were free from his frankly unnerving and unpredictable gaze. It made Harry tense that he couldn’t really tell who or what their teacher was watching and focusing on at any given moment.

He didn’t linger to ask questions about it though. Professor Moody assigned them homework – a mere foot explaining their argument for which of the three Unforgiveable Curses was the worst, and a summary of its effects. Then Harry and Neville hurried out of class as quickly as they could.

“Thanks, Nev,” Harry said quietly after they’d left the classroom, walking rather solemnly next to each other. Hermione was walking with Ron, chatting about the thrilling lesson. Harry hadn’t found it half so enjoyable as those two had. Neville still seemed in a bit of a daze, but at Harry’s comment he blinked, and shook himself as he turned to focus on Harry.

“It was my honoured duty to come to the aid of my ally,” Neville said formally. He then relaxed as he continued, “With any luck that will be your fated attack by a Defence teacher all over and done with for the year, though I would not want to count on it. I must say I am rather glad I didn’t drop my wand this time – I have been practicing my draw. I regret I did not cast a spell, but as he is our teacher that was perhaps for the best in any case.”

“Probably so. We should keep watching him. That was scary!”

Neville nodded. “Because you never know, with an old wizard like him. You never know what they will do. To test you. To see what you’re capable of.” That distant look was in Neville’s eyes again, and Harry had the suspicion he was thinking of his not-so-beloved Great-Uncle Algie.

“We’ll watch him,” Harry vowed. “Together.”

-000-

Slughorn was delighted to see Harry on Saturday morning and happy to reserve the club room for the second and fourth Sunday mornings of the month for Harry’s Potter Watch club meetings.

He seemed inclined to settle in for a leisurely chat, and after extracting Harry’s promise to come to his occasional evening Slug Club meetings, he started talking about the other groups that had reserved spots.

“The Frog Choir is leading things off with fortnightly meetings on Saturdays, and your friend Granger’s monthly H.E.L.P. Society meetings start tomorrow, of course. The Gobstones Club leader has seen me already and reserved a new extra time slot for a formal monthly inter-House tournament. Good idea, eh? I did love a game myself when I was young, so I am sponsoring them with some prizes of chocolate for the first three places.”

Harry shifted anxiously from foot to foot. “I’m sure that will be very popular, sir. Well, I really must be going, sorry.”

“Oh yes! I heard about your detention at breakfast,” Slughorn said, with a sympathetic look. “Never mind, Potter. Just be a bit more discreet in the future!”

“You don’t think it… means someone is a blood purist? If they’re bowing? Or you _do_ think it means that, but you approve?” Harry asked rashly.

Slughorn smiled at him. “Etiquette is the grease that keeps the world turning smoothly, and everyone demands those little gestures in their own way – your Head of House included. Otherwise she would be happy to be called ‘Minerva’ by her students and would forgo the titles of ‘Professor’ and ‘ma’am’. Some people just have different expectations of what courtesy demands of us.

“Are you a blood purist, Potter? Do you think marriages between those of pure-blood and Muggle-born status should be permitted or not? Should Muggle-borns and sympathetic Muggles be allowed to mix in our society? Are those with purer blood better wizards and witches than those with the touch of earth from their Muggle ancestry?”

“No, I’m not – that is, I don’t think I am. I think people should marry whomever they love, and everyone should be welcome in society. I… I don’t know if those with purer blood are better at magic,” Harry admitted hesitantly. “I mean, I don’t _think_ they are, but I’ve never read any scientific test on the matter. I have heard they live longer and are more inclined to have special talents. But even if that might be true there’s obviously exceptions, and I wouldn’t want to make any assumptions one way or the other without researching it, to be honest. I certainly wouldn’t assume a Muggle-born is going to be naturally worse at magic. Even if there _is_ a trend, it means nothing on an individual level. Look at Hermione! She’s great at magic.”

“What about old Cantankerous Nott’s study comparing the NEWT results of Muggle-born and pure-blood students in an appendix of his book?” Slughorn challenged. “Some cite that as the very proof you are after.”

Harry shook his head. “He had a strong political agenda with his pure-blood directory, so all his results are suspect. We know he left out some pure-blood families he should have included while he ignored some mixed marriages for families he liked… or whose Galleons he liked, perhaps. I think he cherry-picked his data on NEWT results, because he didn’t give a reason as to why he left out the results for 1908 to 1910. Don’t you think that’s odd?”

Slughorn chuckled. “Well said, and it’s not so odd if you know that those three years had some truly exceptional Muggle-born students graduating from Hogwarts. Well, Potter, for what it is worth I would say you are _not_ a blood-purist, you’re just a polite young lad. Myself, I judge people on their merits – family is not the only thing that matters, you know. With a little bit of help a Muggle-born student or someone from an unranked family can go just as far as a pure-blood Heir. Off with you now. No tattling on me to McGonagall, now! Remember, courtesy and discretion.” He tapped the side of his nose as a reminder to be more secretive.

“Yes, sir.”

Harry still wasn’t completely sure about the rights and wrongs of the etiquette of bowing, but his professor’s endorsement of his beliefs as not being blood-purist in nature was heartening.

When he entered the Transfiguration classroom for his two-hour detention, he found Colin already writing away, and three tiny first-year students just settling down at desks – two boys in casual robes, and one girl with a green hair ribbon.

“Potter, you sit next to Creevey. Baddock, Pritchard, you two over there. Runcorn, you take the desk behind the Slytherin boys. All of you start copying the lines off the board, and no talking,” McGonagall said sternly.

Harry settled in with a swift quiet mutter of “Sorry” to Colin and began copying out McGonagall’s lines: ‘I am no better, and no worse, than anyone else at Hogwarts just because of who my family is. We are all witches and wizards here, and of equal rank. We may all mix with whomsoever we choose. I will not promulgate the doctrines of blood purity.’

Half an hour into their long and painful scratching out of lines with their quills, their detention was interrupted as Professor Sprout came in with a rebellious-looking first-year in tow. She was an average-looking short girl with her long brown hair worn loose – tucked back behind her large pierced ears studded with little silver crescent moons – and she was wearing plain black school work robes even though it was the weekend (when most students favoured more casual attire).

“Another one for detention, Minerva,” Professor Sprout said, with a disappointed look down at her student, who crossed her arms and scowled, avoiding her gaze. “Eleanor Branstone, first-year – one of my Hufflepuffs. She will need to do lines on religion – she was caught setting up an altar in her dorm room.”

“Oh my goodness, really? A Muggle-born?! Take a seat then Branstone, on your own or next to Runcorn.”

Branstone complied grudgingly with a noisy scrape of the chair legs on the stone floor as she sat crossly, ignoring her Head of House’s parting injunctions to behave.

Professor McGonagall wrote up another paragraph of lines on the board: ‘Magic is just a force and should not be offered worship; I will offer it no sacrifices. Nor shall I practice Dark magic of any kind, for I wish to remain a student at Hogwarts. I will not evangelise pagan superstitions.’

Harry and Colin exchanged a quick guilty look as they glanced over the new lines Branstone would have to copy. The three Slytherins were also distracted from their lines, taking covert peeks at the newest addition to their detention.

The brown-haired Hufflepuff girl wasn’t quick to get started at her work, and just sat there at the desk glaring at the teacher’s back with beady eyes. When McGonagall turned around, the girl said accusingly, “You told me and my mum that _everyone_ at Hogwarts was a witch or a wizard. Why can’t I be free to practise my religion? I’m proud of being a witch! You promised that the days of witches being persecuted were _over_. I thought the Statute of Secrecy meant Hogwarts was a _haven_ for Wiccans, but Professor Sprout said I couldn’t have an altar and she even made me take my pentacle necklace off!”

“That is _enough_ ,” McGonagall said severely, stalking over to put a pile of blank parchment down in front of her. “We _are_ free from persecution to practice magic as I told you when I visited your family, but that liberty does not extend to Dark magic, which is _illegal_. Five points from Hufflepuff, and if you do not wish to be spending the next _month_ in detention you will get started on your lines immediately!”

Branstone got a quill and ink out of her bag and started writing, looking angry and miserable about it.

They were all finally released an hour and a half later, hands cramped and spotted with ink blots. One by one they went up to McGonagall’s desk and handed over their long parchments filled with lines to her and offered up their apologetic promises – sincere or otherwise – to act better in the future.

Out in the corridor one of the Slytherin boys, Baddock, dashed off to catch up to Branstone who was hurrying away at a quick, furious pace.

Millicent was waiting outside the Transfiguration classroom door and pounced on Harry as soon as he emerged. “Harry, I need to talk to you. In private,” she said, in a low voice.

“Uh, sure. Just wait a second, I need to say something to Creevey first.”

Harry turned to the young Gryffindor as he emerged and said, “Creevey, I just want you to know that I’m sorry I got you in trouble.”

The mousey-haired boy smiled cheerfully at him in instant forgiveness. “Oh, it’s fine! You were just trying to be polite and stuff – so was I. It was my fault too, trying to teach it all to Dennis right there in a corridor.”

“I don’t know if it’s really fine or not, but in any case, I really wanted to explain properly to you that I honestly don’t think Muggle-born students are any better or worse than any other wizards or witches. And I don’t look down on you or think I’m better than you because of who my ancestors are, or what family you’re from. So, I wanted to say sorry if you thought that, because I certainly didn’t mean anything like that…”

Harry trailed awkwardly to a stop, then held out his ink-spotted hand to shake – Creevey shook it eagerly.

“No offence taken at all, Potter. I knew you didn’t think that because you’ve always been really nice to me, not like some of the Sly... some people,” he finished awkwardly, with a sidelong glance at Millicent who was hovering impatiently nearby.

“I hope no-one’s giving you trouble?” Harry checked.

“No, no, it’s fine now.”

Creevey waved a cheerful goodbye as he left, then Millicent promptly dragged Harry by the hand into an empty classroom, just the two of them. She closed the door behind them, dimming the noise of the chattering students heading down the stone corridors off to lunch.

“Shouldn’t we have a chaperone if we’re meeting alone?” Harry asked nervously, as she stared at him intently. “Where are the other girls?”

Millicent bowed low from the waist to Harry, a supplicant abasing themselves before their patron. “Harold James Potter, Heir of the Houses of Slytherin, Black, and Potter, I come to thee in secret in search of thine aid.”

“Millicent, really, that’s not necessary, stand up – we’re friends! Is this some gossip about my detention? I don’t really demand that people should bow to me, you know. You don’t need to be all formal, honestly. Are you alright? What’s wrong?”

She straightened up, and Harry was taken aback by the look on her face. Not grief, or fear, but fierce determination. “I need your help, Harry. The Headmaster has _cancelled the Quidditch season_.”

“Uh, yes,” agreed Harry.

They stared at each other silently for a moment. “I’m really sorry?” Harry added hesitantly. “It must be very disappointing; I know you love Quidditch.”

“So… I need your help. I want you to convince the Headmaster to bring back Quidditch,” Millicent explained slowly. “You have his ear. You have connections across the Houses, and even in the Ministry, and with Quidditch teams too. You sat in the Top Box at the Quidditch World Cup, for Merlin’s sake! I believe you can do this for me, for all of us, and of course I will be in your debt if you do.”

“Well, I don’t know if I can… the Triwizard Cup sounds like a big deal, and I doubt the Headmaster cancelled Quidditch just because he felt like it. I know it’s a shame, but there’s always next year!” he said encouragingly.

Millicent shook her head. “No, _this_ year. I need to get on the Slytherin team _this_ year. Derrick will have graduated by next year. You don’t understand – I spent practically all the favours I have been saving for the past three years! I used my blackmail secrets I have been hoarding. I sold information – even on you. I claimed all the favours people owe me for services rendered and secrets kept.”

“You sold information on me?” Harry checked nervously. “What information?”

“Nothing damaging,” promised Millicent. “Confirmation for a couple of people about you being a Parselmouth and the Heir of Slytherin – how I saw you commanding snake statues in the Chamber of Secrets, similar to the scene in Lockhart’s book. Also… I told Draco about you being a Metamorphmagus.”

“What?! Why would you do that?”

“Well, because of various deals I have a _guaranteed_ spot on the team if Derrick gets the Captaincy, but if Montague gets it I will only get a preferential try-out. So, I traded the information for a major favour from him – Draco will order Crabbe to not run against me if Montague’s made Captain, and the Malfoys will offer some favour to the Crabbe family of course in compensation. That will practically ensure I get the spot.”

Harry sighed unhappily, giving her a frustrated look.

“I really am sorry, but I could not sit on that information _forever_ with no return on my secrecy, and I wasn’t _sworn_ to secrecy,” Millicent said nervously. “It’s not like I announced it to the _Daily Prophet_ or _Witch Weekly_. I did not tell anyone about us cheating in History of Magic, or ruin your lies about Lockhart or his book, or anything harmful to your reputation! Only good things!”

“If I’d wanted Draco or anyone to know about me being a partial Metamorphmagus, I would have told them!”

“Well yes, obviously. That is why you kept it secret, and that is why it was worth such a big favour,” said Millicent. “If you want to tell other people about that yourself, you may want to do so quickly as I only got a promise from him to wait a week before he will be free to discreetly tell anyone else.”

Harry groaned, and buried his face in his hands.

“Look, Harry, I _am_ sorry, but I _need_ this. Quidditch is my _chance_. To do something – to be someone. I am not a good student – the only O I get is for History of Magic and we both know that is nothing to boast about. I am failing Potions, and I only get Acceptables for Charms and Transfiguration, and that is with plenty of studying. I am trying, but I am just not much of a witch, and I am no good at essays. I am no beauty either – I am muscular and overweight, and no-one is ever going to compare my face to Helen of Troy’s. I shall graduate Hogwarts with no Apprenticeship lined up, no fiancé who wants me except maybe some old or ugly wizard who cares more about blood purity than matching temperaments or good looks, and no job my parents will consider letting me work at because there’s nothing I’m good at that’s not beneath the family dignity. Except Quidditch. It is my _one hope_ and I will not let my chance be _ruined_ because of some idiotic international competition that cannot _possibly_ take up the _whole school year_!”

She was yelling for the last sentence of her ranted explanation, chest heaving and plump chin wobbling as she clearly tried not to cry.

“Please, Harry,” she sniffled miserably. “Help me.”

Harry reached out tentatively to pat her on the shoulder. “Okay. It’s okay. I’ll see what I can do. I’m sure you’re not the only person who’s upset by this. The Weasley twins are just as angry about it, and Ron is a miserable scowling thundercloud about _his_ lost chance, too, especially since he’s too young to enter the Tournament. I’ll get help – we’ll work together, and we’ll bring Quidditch back this year.”

Harry thought she might hug him and braced himself for it, but Millicent bowed low again and murmured formally that she was indebted to her patron for his assistance. Harry automatically gave her a short unthinking bow of acknowledgement and left the room with a determined stride, the beginnings of a plan glimmering in his mind. He would need help for this, but luckily, he knew just the people for the job, starting with Professor Slughorn.

-000-

With only an hour left before dinner time the club room was packed, and everyone was glad that Slughorn had overseen its expansion to double its size compared to last year. Harry had plenty of friends eager to help spread word of his upcoming emergency meeting at top speed, and the Weasley twins had been the most determined self-proclaimed ‘priority owls’ anyone could hope for. Working together, they’d managed to gather together everyone from all four Quidditch teams including the reserve players. Harry had also attracted a good handful of extra people who’d heard about the ‘Save Quidditch’ meeting either from gossip or from reading the hastily pinned announcement on the club room’s message board. So, the room was also packed with Quidditch team hopefuls too, as well as keen fans outraged at the year’s cancellation of matches they’d been anticipating watching.

Standing nervously at the front of the room in front of a blackboard, Harry cast his eye over the crowded room with people packed everywhere on sofas and wooden chairs, with a few students lining the walls and sitting on rugs on the ground, and took a deep breath to ground himself.

“Hello everyone, welcome to the first meeting of the ‘Save Quidditch’ group,” Harry started. “Thanks for coming, and thanks also to Madam Hooch who’s joined us this evening as our group’s teacher-supervisor and who I’m pleased to say is of course _very_ much in favour of our goal!”

Madam Hooch, seated comfortably in a plush lavender armchair, smiled and waved as the students gave her and Harry an enthusiastic round of applause.

Harry waited for the room to quiet down again before continuing. “I’m sure the senior years are very excited about the possibility of entering the Triwizard Tournament, but that’s only going to be an option for just _one_ senior student from Hogwarts, and all the junior students aren’t even eligible.

“Hermione Granger has done some quick research into past Tournaments – thanks Hermione – and typically they’ve consisted of between three to five challenges lasting no more than two days in length each, usually set months apart. To uh… allow for the competitors to heal up before the next challenge,” Harry said, with a wince. Hermione’s report based on her hasty research had been gory to hear – so many past competitors had died or been crippled.

“The Tournaments where the challenges were very close together were often the more disastrous ones, so her research suggests that for safety’s sake they’ll be at least two months apart. So, three to five events set months apart, which should take up no more than ten days in total, should allow _plenty_ of time for us to have Hogwarts Quidditch matches, don’t you think?!”

There was a chorus of cheers and applause for that.

“So, first things first! I’m just a fan who’s trying to get things started and organised, so it’s now our four Quidditch captains who’ll be taking the lead for the group. It’s my honour to introduce our potential Quidditch captains for the year! Roger Davies, sixth-year, is continuing as the captain and Chaser for Ravenclaw-” Harry started, pausing for some House-proud cheering for the handsome brown-haired captain as he came up to the front of the room.

“Cedric Diggory, sixth-year, will be continuing as captain and Seeker for Hufflepuff,” Harry continued, and Diggory was patted on the back and had his hand shook a lot as he joined them at the front. Harry had been a little wary about approaching him directly after his last failure and had cautiously gotten Ernie Macmillan to act as a go-between and talk to him. While not up to much general socializing, Diggory had reportedly been eager to help with their quest to reinstate Quidditch, as his father had been a big Quidditch fan and Diggory felt that continuing to play would be honouring his memory.

“Professor Slughorn sends his regards to all and best wishes for our endeavours to reinstate Quidditch, and has nominated Slytherin seventh-year Peregrine Derrick, Beater, as the new captain should we be successful!”

The Slytherins all looked cheerful and approving of their housemate’s appointment, even Montague, who must surely be hiding his disappointment at the news that he’d missed out on the plum role.

“Last but by no means least, Gryffindor needs a new captain to replace Oliver Wood, who I’m sure will do our House proud in his job as the new reserve Keeper for Puddlemere United! Professor McGonagall has been consulted – thank you to Fred and George Weasley for that – and our new Gryffindor captain is Angelina Johnson, Chaser and sixth-year! Over to you four, now!” Harry led a final round of applause for the team captains, then with a relieved sigh took a seat at the front, squashed into Johnson’s old spot in between Katie Bell and Fred Weasley.

Johnson gave a short speech to everyone when she reached the front. “Thanks for the support everyone! Hopefully we can actually get Quidditch back again really soon and make this our first _and_ last group meeting! If we can’t, we’re still planning to run some unofficial pick-up games – we won’t lose our Quidditch no matter what! So, whether our official efforts succeed or fail, if you’re interested in signing up for try-outs come and see me at the end of the meeting – I have sign-up sheets for _all_ the four Houses. We’ve each picked a morning for try-outs from Tuesday through Friday next week, to keep things simple and fast in case we can only squeeze some games in over the next two months before the international students arrive. I’ll be working with Madam Hooch on match scheduling that could work around the Triwizard Tournament, so come and see me later if you have any thoughts on that.”

Peregrine spoke up next. “My role is going to be coordinating efforts to garner support from the wider Quidditch community. For those of us in sixth and seventh year in particular, cancelling the year’s matches is a very hard blow to our potential careers after Hogwarts as scouts will not be able to see us play. All students young and old will also lose a valuable year’s worth of practice with a consequent loss of skill, and Quidditch supporters will lose a lot of entertainment. I already have pledges from Professor Slughorn and Megan Jones to get a letter of support for reinstating Quidditch at Hogwarts from members of the Holyhead Harpies, which will be sent to the Headmaster. Also, Harry Potter will be writing to the manager of the Appleby Arrows, and the Weasley family are going to get in touch with Oliver Wood whom as you just heard has joined Puddlemere United.

“In addition, Professor Slughorn, Luna Lovegood, and Alice Tolipan stand ready to talk to their contacts in the media, if it comes to that. If you have any valuable contacts with Quidditch teams, the Department of Magical Games and Sports, or the press, please come and consult with me about the best approach to take.”

Diggory was next and kept his talk very short. “I am in charge of our petition to the Headmaster. We want as many people to sign it as possible from all four Houses, and the teachers, too. I am sure if the Headmaster sees an overwhelming and united show of support for Quidditch, he will change his mind about the ban. I need helpers from each House, ready to work together to canvass Hogwarts for signatures.”

The Ravenclaw captain, Roger Davies, was the last captain to speak. “I have spoken briefly with the Headmaster this afternoon to ascertain his reasons behind the ban on Quidditch this year. His concerns are focused on splitting the school’s attention from supporting our Triwizard champion, whomever they may be, the possible use of the Quidditch pitch for one or more Triwizard Tournament tasks, and the anticipated additional workload that will be imposed on several teachers due to the Tournament. Lastly, and most significantly, there will also be a strain on the Hogwarts budget this year due to the need to accommodate extra guests, as well as expenses for the Tournament tasks.

“Did you know that Quidditch games aren’t free? They come with some costs, including broom and equipment maintenance and replacement, yearly fees for checking of enchantments on the Quidditch stands, the Bludgers, and the Snitch by a representative from the Ministry, and Madam Hooch’s salary for her work as our referee and match coordinator. As such, I will be in charge of planning and organizing fundraising activities, as well as leading a discussion group looking at alternate venues for matches if necessary. Come and see me if you have ideas about any of that, or any other aspects we might have forgotten about!

“Also, Draco Malfoy – the Slytherin Seeker – will be talking to his father, the chairman of the Hogwarts Board of Directors, about funding allocation. If you know one of the other eleven board members, please join our group.”

“One last thing before we all split into planning groups,” Johnson added, after Davies had finished his speech. “A round of applause for Potter, who worked like a house-elf all day talking to everyone and planning everything, and who got us all moving! Stand up, Potter!”

Harry stood up embarrassedly as people cheered for him and looked around for Millicent. He spotted her against one wall with Greg and Vincent and gave her an enquiring look and a gesture to join him, but she shook her head in determined refusal. So, he just smiled his best Lockhart-smile, gave everyone a wave, and sat down again. As the Quidditch captains moved to different corners of the room and people crowded around them to sign up for try-outs and eagerly volunteer their assistance, Harry thought that while he wasn’t as shy as Millicent was, he still understood a little of how she felt. He’d been happy to hand over the spot in the limelight and the organisation of the group to someone else too. What mattered was that it was happening, not who got credit for it. Or perhaps she was getting quiet credit in Slytherin circles, and that was all that was important to her. Peregrine _had_ spontaneously come and found him like he’d already known Harry was working to get Quidditch reinstated.

It was nice to see the Houses all mixing together and working for a common cause. Over in the Ravenclaw corner with Davies, Vincent Crabbe was loudly explaining his thoughts on how they’d all forgotten about how Viktor Krum went to Durmstrang and _might_ be one of the exchange students. If that was the case, Krum would miss practising Quidditch all year – the Bulgarian team might be happy to help with some funding if their star player came on exchange to Hogwarts. Draco joined in with noises of approval and made supportive suggestions about how someone – implicitly not himself – should research that. Draco also recommended that they should also find out if the other schools had Quidditch teams and would like to have some friendly matches with the Hogwarts teams. An eager Ravenclaw volunteered to research the latter topic, then they scurried over to Johnson’s table to raise that with her as a possible scheduling issue.

Draco started discussing selling ‘Save Quidditch’ supporter badges as a fundraising endeavour, and eager Hufflepuffs volunteered to help him make them, while Ravenclaws and Gryffindors began bickering good-naturedly over the best design and slogan. The Hogwarts squid was a preferred logo option, for some reason Harry didn’t manage to overhear in the hubbub of dozens of cheerful voices. Harry hoped the rare inter-House goodwill and co-operation would last. He wandered over to Derrick’s table, ready to do what he could to help too. Hopefully he could get some tips on the best way to phrase his letter to the Appleby Arrow’s manager.


	3. Slavery and Subjugation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> House-elves, slavery, and the Imperius Curse.

**_Sunday 4 th September 1994_ **

Harry was glad they’d only had one day of classes so far, with minimal homework, because his entire weekend was getting filled up with meetings. Sunday morning was the year’s first H.E.L.P. Society meeting, and after yearly membership fees were collected the more active members were eager to report to the group on their holiday research and plans they’d made for further pushes to improve house-elf welfare.

Hermione started things off by congratulating everyone and talking about the ‘cultural renaissance’ of improved treatment for house-elves in wizarding society, including supplying them with a new toga once a year and dedicated sleeping areas. She also spoke with passionate triumph about the Society’s success in directly providing house-elves with togas, tea-towels, socks, and shoes when they were too shy to approach their masters directly, and when the families were financially struggling.

“We have a long way to go before house-elves have the full rights as citizens that they deserve, but in the meantime we’ve made great improvements in their welfare. The Office for House-Elf Relocation has written a letter to the H.E.L.P. Society thanking us for referring seven house-elves to them last year – I am pleased to say that five Hogwarts house-elves and two house-elves from private homes have found new, caring families to live with,” she said, brandishing the letter proudly. “We have three new house-elves at Hogwarts this year – two babies were born over summer, and we also have an adult female house-elf who was dismissed from her position and is in some distress as a result and sought me out looking for assistance. Winky is refusing to be allocated to a new family at this stage, which is quite unusual, so we’ll be doing everything we can to support her while she considers her options. Could I have a volunteer to help me make her the traditional robe worn by free house-elves? Ginny? Thank you.”

Luna gave a talk about her efforts to look for the nigh-extinct nixies or ‘water-elves’ with her father over the holiday, which sadly had been unsuccessful as they were rare in Europe and doubly so in Britain. “However, we did find some old stories about them,” she said brightly, “which confirmed that they’re bonded to a very particular stream or river and can’t be moved to a new one unless they can swim to it while they’re young. They are also very vulnerable to pollution and require their river to be in a magically saturated area to thrive. As Muggle settlements have encroached on their rivers, or wizards and witches have moved away and forgotten about the shy creatures bonded to the streams on their land, the nixies have gone into decline. Fenodyree – also known as field-elves – are similar in that they can’t be relocated from the land they’re bonded to, though their appearance suggests they’re more related to the Roman fauns rather than to house-elves.”

“Thank you for your research, Luna,” Hermione said, and led a polite patter of applause.

Anthony Goldstein was eager to speak next and spoke about his holiday research of old historical documents. “We have been assuming – as does most of society – that house-elves are bonded to a property. However, we also know that they can have mixed allegiances to both their old and new family if a property is resold and can ‘wither’ in cases of valid inheritance disputes, even if their residence is uninterrupted. I have found old journal entries and anecdotes of a few cases where a House was feuding with another and claimed a property after a duel, or where bribes and influence overturned a valid will. Despite society recognising the claim of a new owner of a residence, the house-elves responded only to the Head of House that they’d originally bonded to, or to their Heir.

“While geographical property bonds are primary ones, I think we should also remember to focus on the bond to the property owners more than we have been. There hasn’t been any scientific investigation of the limits of what house-elves can do, if ordered to by their owners. I think there might be loopholes we could work with, there. There might be the potential for improving house-elf freedoms, if they’re _ordered_ to act more freely, without technically being released.”

“Is that a magical curse, or just tradition, though?” someone asked doubtfully. “Are the house-elves _forced_ to obey the rightful owners of a property, or are they _choosing_ to do so?”

Harry piped up and added, “I agree with Anthony, and I think it’s a curse. When I bonded Dobby to a property, I felt the magic working – like a tingle on my skin, and at the end of the vows it was like the magic slid off me and sank into the ground. There’s definitely magic involved during the bonding process, affecting the wizard or witch as well as the house-elf and I think the property itself.

“Dobby has been doing well overcoming some conditioning or cursed impulse towards self-punishment with encouragement. Or… orders. I guess they’re orders, but I try not to phrase things like that.”

Hemione smiled encouragingly. “Dobby’s been doing very well. In discussions with the Longbottom house-elves we found Dobby responded well to being told by other house-elves that different Houses had different traditions, and that it’s important to respect and follow your House’s ways, and to obey your Master. Now obviously that’s not an ideal mindset, but it’s helped him break free of the mental shackles compelling self-punishment.”

“I met a different house-elf over the holidays who hasn’t been properly bonded,” Harry added. “He is able to rebel, to a certain extent, without feeling the apparent need to punish himself over it. However, he seems to be suffering from ‘withering’ as he has reduced magical abilities and can’t leave his house. I’d be interested in hearing from anyone as to whether it’s common for elderly house-elves to be unable to leave their family’s properties.”

There was a general murmur of concern about that, but Hermione was silent and just looked angrily thin-lipped. Harry had written to her about Kreacher over the holidays, and Hemione had been _appalled_ to hear that Kreacher had been reduced to trying to attach to a family portrait for years, in lieu of a proper human master, and vowed she was going to write Sirius a very stern letter about it. She conceded that Sirius wasn’t at fault for the years he’d been in prison and unable to help Kreacher but remained livid that he wasn’t doing anything to fix it now he had the chance.

“I have been thinking the whole issue of house-elf enslavement might be an ancient bloodline curse,” suggested Tracey. “However, as the Ministry’s banned blood magic, books on that topic are illegal and thus very hard to find. For a book to even _mention_ bloodline curses is rare.”

Harry thought curiously about the ‘bin’ of Dark books that Bill Weasley was going through for him, curse-breaking those that needed it, and looking for the Egyptian curse that Sirius had been hit with in hopes of finding a counter-curse. Perhaps there might be something in there on bloodline curses that would be useful.

“Interesting! Any suggestions on how we can try to legally research that possibility?” Hermione asked. A couple of older students volunteered to check the Restricted Section on the group’s behalf, while Tracey said she would ask Professor Moody about the topic.

Harry volunteered that he’d come across the term briefly in a discussion of ailments that vampires could suffer from. “Ingesting cursed blood can be harmful to them, which is why sensible vampires never feed on known werewolves, as it’s thought – at least in the scroll I read – that lycanthropy is a blood-based curse. Certainly it causes vampires some distress to ingest werewolf blood, including stomach cramps and vomiting, and werewolves will shy away from attacking vampires. It’s part of why werewolves and vampires usually get along – they don’t instinctually see each other as prey.

“Hypothetically, it would be interesting to find out how vampires react to ingesting house-elf blood.” There was a mixed response to that suggestion – some in favour of a hopefully definitive test for a bloodline curse, while others were distressed by the idea of encouraging a vampire to feed on a house-elf, even a volunteer.

“We can’t have _true_ volunteers when they’re cursed to obey,” Hermione argued. “They are not properly able to consent to experimentation, so we should not abuse that.”

Then Anthony interjected with an entirely new suggestion that ignited a new line of eager discussion. “I can’t do it myself, mind you – I’m sort of religiously obligated not to consult with the dead for answers,” Anthony said apologetically. “However, other people might like to consider talking to the school’s older ghosts and portraits about old lore about house-elves, field-elves, water-elves, and bloodline curses in general.”

As the group eagerly divvied up the responsibility of talking to various ghosts and portraits – none of whom predated the tenth century when Hogwarts was founded – Harry sat quietly with his jaw agape in shock. He’d never thought about asking him before, but surely the enchanted mosaic of Ambrosius Aurelianus – _Merlin –_ would know something about the history of house-elves.

-000-

“Hello Ambrosius, it has been a couple of months since I last visited, and it’s now the fourth of September in the year nineteen ninety-four,” Harry said in Latin, as the mosaic wizard woke and stretched. He’d been teaching him snippets of modern English here and there, but conversations were much easier for both of them in Latin.

“Welcome back, Harry. Another year of school begun! I hope you had a pleasant time over your holidays.”

The two chatted for a while about the nicer parts of what Harry had been up to over the summer, like his book signing tours and visiting friends and Sirius.

“There was also some… trouble, over the holidays. Attacks. Stuff with Tom,” Harry said hesitantly. “But can we talk about it next time? I _would_ like to talk about it, just… not now. It’s messy, and it would take longer to chat about that I have free time for, right now.” Harry thought Ambrosius would be a safe confidant, but really wanted to focus on asking his questions about house-elves, after they’d finished catching up. Talking about the burgeoning war and his truce with the Dark Lord would be _very_ distracting. He felt upset just thinking about it all.

“That’s quite alright,” Ambrosius said soothingly. “I am intrigued, but I can wait. We can discuss something else. So, have you heard about your result on your Latin test, yet? I hope it went well. How are your plans for your studies shaping up for the year, without the advantage of a Time-Turner?”

“I got an A for all my subjects: Latin, Maths, and French. That’s top marks, like an ‘Outstanding’,” Harry explained proudly. “Studies without a Time-Turner are going to be harder this year of course, but there’s not too much left to do for English and Biology since I did a lot of the work last year and some more over the holidays. Sirius says he has set up a laboratory – like a potions room – in a house he’s rented near Hogwarts, to help with my Chemistry studies. I should be fine with Human Biology because it’s just so _interesting_. I’ll be starting Business Studies this year, but I won’t take the test for it until next year – there’s a lot to learn, and along with Biology it’s one of the two subjects I’ll be helping Dudley with.

“So, there’s four subjects I’m planning to take the IGCSE exams for in June: English, Biology, Chemistry, and Human Biology. If I can get those four done this year then I can concentrate more on my magical studies in my OWL year.”

“What do you have in mind for next year? I agree that keeping your load of additional work light next year seems wise.”

“Next year is for my Business Studies IGCSE, and two A-level subjects – the equivalent of NEWTs. Latin and French,” Harry said, with a grin. “There will be some work to learn texts, and cultural information and that sort of thing. But given I’ve already learnt the languages magically I’m hoping I’ll breeze through the actual tests just like I did this year.

“Then, I’ve got four more A-levels planned for sixth year: Biology, Chemistry, Maths and Statistics, and English Literature. Hopefully I’ll be ready for the exams at the end of sixth year, and then I’ll be all finished with my Muggle studies a year early and can concentrate on my NEWTs with _nothing_ extra to study that year. If not, well… there’s still that year to catch up in. Or even after Hogwarts if I must, but I’d rather be able to go straight into medical studies at university. That’s the goal.”

“Not being a Healer?”

“I’m thinking I’ll do that _after_ becoming a proper doctor. Get a grounding in modern medical science, so I can better judge how sensible the wizarding world’s Healing practices are. I already know lots of it is out of date, but I’d like to know more. I think being a doctor first will make me a better Healer and help me revolutionize magical Healing practice.”

“A grand goal, worthy of someone both cunning and ambitious who feels a yearning or an obligation to lead their people,” teased Ambrosius, which made Harry laugh. “It sounds like you will be very busy for the next few years, however. Can you afford to maintain your club memberships?”

“I’m not sure… maybe not all three Potter Watch meetings. The H.E.L.P. Society is going great – I don’t want to quit that. In fact, we just had a meeting this morning, and I realised you might be a great source of information about house-elves. My friends and I in the H.E.L.P. Society have been researching house-elves a lot – we want to free them from serving wizards if we can or improve their treatment if we can’t. We’re pretty sure they’re magically enslaved, but we don’t know exactly how, or how to counter it. Can you tell me something about the history of house-elves?”

“Ah, the little brownies, as I think you like to call them these days?”

“Just ‘house-elves’, now. Luna says that ‘brownies’ and ‘hobs’ were fashionable names a few centuries ago, but only Muggles use those names now.”

“Language does insist on changing! Well, freeing them is a simple business,” Ambrosius started, which made Harry perk up eagerly. “To manumit them, their owner must ritually treat their house-elf as an equal and not as a slave. They must thank them for their service like an equal, instead of taking their work for granted as is their due as the house-elf’s master. Then, their master should give the house-elf the traditional garb of their people instead of the clothing of slaves, then pronounce that they are setting the house-elf free.”

Harry slumped in disappointment. That wasn’t anything _new_ , that was just a fancy ritual way of giving a house-elf clothes. “But that just makes them seek out a new master!”

“Well yes, it is a generational enslavement curse now, bound to their blood. Very powerful and persistent.”

“We thought it might be a blood curse. What do you mean by ‘now’? It didn’t use to be like that?” Harry asked interestedly.

“Not always. There were still a few free elves in the forests left in my time, and even a century or two after, though the curse was spreading fast as the free ones interbred with the slaves. The curse passes from mother to child, of course.”

“It does?” Harry asked, scribbling furiously as he wrote down the story in his journal. “What else can you tell me about it?”

“Oh yes – that’s the strongest way to bind magic across generations, not father to child. Now, house-elves are a Celtic race, originally found in what you know as Great Britain and France, though I understand they have spread across the continent of Europe since my time. Perhaps further? Everyone used to know that if you left out an offering of a bowl of cream or some food by the hearth, an elf might be willing to work for your family in exchange for their sustenance and shelter in your house. However, they were touchy, mischievous creatures who would turn on you if they felt offended.

“It is said that a Celtic druid named Ogmius was furious about a rash of attacks on his people by angry elves. Houses and belongings had been destroyed and many people had been injured, some even killed. Usually in retaliation for minor crimes such as watching the elves work at night, or a paucity of offerings, or people not being appreciative enough of their elves’ labours. Some elves had stronger causes for unrest – they were angered by the use of iron in houses or in the fields and woods they thought of as their own, or by the land being cleared for lumber or to make way for fields and houses. They waged war on the humans who contaminated the lands and their own houses with iron. On other occasions there was no reason at all for their tricks and destruction – they were happy enough to coexist with humans, and simply were just revelling in chaos, with their innate love of mischief.

“Ogmius concocted a curse to bind the elves responsible for attacks on his people as permanent slaves, as both an act of vengeance and a means of controlling the creatures in the future. During his life and after his death he was worshipped as a god by his people the Gauls – he was the god of eloquence who could bind men to his will.”

“Do you know more about what he was like? Are there any old writings that mention him, or how he cast the curse?” Harry asked, still taking notes as fast as he could. “We’d like to know how to undo it.”

“Ah, this modern distaste for slavery is fascinating,” Ambrosius said, with a smile, “though I must concede that the Stoics thought similarly. It used to be that you only freed a slave for services rendered to your family, or if they had saved up enough to buy their freedom. In my day in the Roman Empire one man in ten was a slave. Romans passionate about justice argued for more rights for slaves, not the abolition of the institution, for civilised society relied on the labour of slaves. They advocated for such things as the right of slaves to complain about their masters’ cruel punishment, and that masters should be punished for killing their slaves just like they would be punished for any other murder.

“Numbers were much the same here even a millennium later in the time of the Founders. It was William the Conqueror who limited the practice of selling slaves overseas, and the Normans and some of the Christians who pushed slowly but successfully for the abolishment of slavery over the next couple of centuries. Then of course Britain brought slavery back a mere three hundred years later, when it began conquering Africa in the 1500s. It seems to me that slavery is a more natural state of affairs, and this moment in time when people are against it is nothing but a brief lull. I expect it will come back into favour again, with time.”

“That’s a depressing outlook.”

“I prefer ‘realistic’. It is an outlook your ancestor Salazar shared – he feared that one day mankind’s fear of our kind would be outweighed by our utility as slaves, since we were no longer worshipped by the masses. Either that, or that one day we would see open warfare between our peoples, not just sporadic murders. Hogwarts was thus designed to be both a haven of safety and learning, and a fortress.”

While it was all very fascinating and Harry was writing it all down, he wanted to keep Ambrosius on track while he was in a loquacious mood. “So, is there anything I might be able to look up about Ogmius or his curse? Old scrolls or books?”

Ambrosius stroked his beard thoughtfully. “I believe he is mentioned in one of the works of Lucian of Samosata, though it has been so many years I cannot recall which one. Have you read his works? They’re in Latin.”

“No, sorry. Do you remember what he said about Ogmius?”

“That’s a shame. Well, he was a very popular writer once upon a time; a mortal Roman author of the second century. I remember he described Ogmius in one of his books, based on a painting he saw of the god. Ogmius was an old man, bald and darkly tanned from the sun. He was otherwise depicted in a similar style to Hercules – clad in a lion skin – part of the symbolism to show that words hold sway over men like brute strength, or even more so. He said Ogmius had long chains made of gold and amber through his smiling mouth that pierced his tongue. The multitude of chains were attached at the other ends to the ears of a group of men that willingly and cheerfully followed him, trying to get as close to him as they could. He had the power to influence men’s minds so that they would follow him to the ends of the earth, to bind people to himself and control their actions.

“The oral lore of our people said that he could also craft curse tablets, which let you bind curses to someone, such as cursing a woman to barrenness. I understand that the art of crafting them was lost a century or two before the Founders’ time, so I imagine little is known of them now. Too ‘Dark’ for the modern era. Certainly many men once lived in fear of being beset by curses – Pliny the Elder once wrote in his _Natural Histories_ that there was no-one who did not fear to be spellbound by curse tablets. So the art may be lost now but it was once extremely popular.”

“So, the curse on house-elves might have been a generational blood curse crafted with a curse tablet by Ogmius?”

“Perhaps. If so, it would probably be written in Ogham. It is said that Ogmius emigrated to or visited Ireland, later in his life. The Irish called him Ogma, or at least they did a few centuries later, either when he was an old man or had passed away. The Irish viewed him as the honey-tongued, sunburnt god who invented Ogham, which is why it is my guess that his curse tablets probably used that script. The majority of tablets were of course usually in Latin, with a few in Greek, but some crafters – both mortal and divine – chose to write in secret scripts and I think Ogham may be one of them. The Irish may have more tales of him, though I am not sure how reliable their accounts are, being more recent in origin.”

“What else can you tell me about curse tablets?”

“While a number of materials were used, curse tablets were usually made of lead, the heaviness and dullness of them being a good conduit for weighty curses. However, with a knowledge of magical affinities and the clue from his picture, I expect Ogmius used gold – or perhaps amber – for a better effect on the minds which needed to be made _joyful_ to be subjugated. Obviously, sacrifices would have been required to initially bind the first generation of elves, however it was done. After a few generations, the bloodline curse spread through their populations until few remained free – those were hunted down and killed whenever they became a threat.”

Harry scribbled down notes frantically as Ambrosius spoke, written in Latin so he didn’t need to slow down at all and wouldn’t lose any shades of meaning from translating things to English on the fly.

“How would you free them from this curse? Assuming that the tablet’s been long since lost. Or, if we could find it, would that make a difference?”

“Certainly finding the tablet would help. Gaul – sorry, France – or Ireland may be the best places to search. Perhaps it has been kept as a treasure by a nation or a family. Yet, I have never heard of such a thing, and curse-tablets were usually buried. There may not even be a tablet, it is merely my best guess. In either case, with or without the tablet you would need a blood sacrifice to free the elves. I think your desire to free them is a kind-hearted thought but perhaps not a wise one. Still, the dead must respect the wishes of the living to run their own world. It would not be a light thing, to free a captive nation, and the price would be a terrible one. Thus I would advise in the strongest possible terms that you should seek the permission of your nation’s ruler – the Minister, I believe – before attempting such a task.”

 _A terrible price_ , Harry thought warily.

“What _kind_ of blood sacrifice?” he asked slowly. “I guess we’re talking about more than smearing a house-elf with a few drops of blood and doing a ritual.”

“Indeed. For a single elf, perhaps a single mortal or elven death would do. For the freedom of a large group of house-elves spread across the continent? Nothing less than a wicker man set up at a sacred site, on one of the festival days. Imbolc, perhaps, as that is a propitious time for new beginnings. Or Samhain or Yule, to enhance the power of the sacrificial offerings.”

Ambrosius was watching Harry closely as he spoke, and something in Harry’s blanched, shocked expression seemed to satisfy him.

“Not an easy business, you see. I’ve never been fond of human sacrifice, ever since I almost became a victim of the practice when Vortigern wanted his keep built. I imagine almost falling prey to it yourself, just above our heads in the Chamber, has fostered your distaste for it as well.”

“That, and it being _just plain wrong_!” Harry said emphatically. “Couldn’t we just sacrifice a lot of chickens, instead? Or some cows?”

Ambrosius shook his head. “Not magically powerful enough. Do you even know _how_ to channel the power of a death to a magical purpose?”

“…No.”

“Do you want to _learn_ how?”

“…Not really, no,” Harry said hesitantly. “Not unless it was just a chicken or something… and it could help free house-elves. I’ve only sacrificed fruit and bread and stuff. I saw a pig killed, though. We ate it afterwards – it wasn’t wasted.”

“Then the enslavement of the elves isn’t a problem you can solve. Nor is it one I think you _should_ solve. Elves used to kill those who trespassed in their forest glades, or cursed and toyed with prisoners for their amusement until they grew bored. It is said that they never truly understood the pain of others, since they feel so little themselves, being resistant to injury much like the giants. Nixies – the water-elves – drowned people who ventured too close to their pools and streams when the whim took them. Fauns went on drunken rampages and literally tore people apart. Of the three races that all needed to draw strongly on the magic in the earth or the water, the elves were the most dangerous, as they competed with mankind the most for territory and were the most mobile.”

“Do you think the curse interferes with their ability to draw on ley lines? Sometimes house-elves ‘wither’ if they’re free without a clear owner for too long.”

“Definitely. They have been crippled so they cannot connect to the magic in the earth as their ancestors of the woods and fields once did. They must instead draw on the magical energies of the house and family they’re bonded to, and cannot go against their will, including leaving the house they’re assigned to. They gain strength through servitude, and from being close to their Masters. Too long alone and unbonded and they wither, both physically and magically.

“I do not know for certain, but I suspect it’s an aspect of the curse designed with safety in mind. A restriction added in case the canny creatures attempted to seek their freedom through murdering their masters by some roundabout means – the curse ensured they would die without their master providing them with a link to the land’s magic. No longer can they draw on the ley lines themselves – they may only do so indirectly through their master.”

Harry sighed.

“A weighty burden for a young mind to carry. You are not responsible for their fate.”

“But if I can _do_ something… but it’s so _terrible_. I want them free… but I don’t want anyone to have to _die_ over it.”

“Well, perhaps there would be another way – the wands you have these days are masterfully crafted innovations that increase your power wonderfully! However, you would have to be more learned in the magic of curses, sacrifices and blood to find an alternative. Those skilled in forbidden arts may not be the most trustworthy people to search out as tutors, however. Be very cautious where you place your trust, Harry.”

Harry frowned. He could only think of a few people – apart from Merlin – who might know a bit about such topics. He didn’t want to ask advice from _any_ of them.

“Well, thank you anyway. Is it alright if I share this information with people? For that matter, am I allowed to mention that you’re down here? Can you be moved? I mean, I don’t _want_ to give away the fact I’ve been coming down here, but maybe you’d be a lot happier up in the Great Hall, where everyone can talk to you? I mean, you’re _Merlin_ , everyone would be excited to meet you. No-one would dream of hurting your mosaic.”

Harry didn’t want to lose his secret hideaway, but he’d been worrying on and off that Ambrosius felt trapped and bored down in the Chamber of Secrets, with only Harry’s sporadic visits for company.

“My presence here – when known about – has been kept a family secret for centuries. You may of course tell people I am here if you wish, but I would advise against revealing it unless you have a good reason for your announcement, as you may be beleaguered by questions, and your family sanctuary here lost for good.

“Moving my mosaic is, I believe, beyond your abilities. I used to be located in a more public area, but Salazar possessively moved me when he quarrelled with the other Founders, since he was the one to find and relocate my mosaic to Hogwarts in the first place. He was convinced Muggles were going to invade and try and ransack the castle. There used to be other treasures hidden in his Chamber of Secrets, did you know? Some – like Godric’s sword – were given to the other Founders when they insisted on him relinquishing them, while others remained here; they were removed piecemeal over the centuries by his heirs, like his favourite locket. When he left Hogwarts he locked things down so only his heirs could enter his Chamber, and it takes an offering of blood to enter this secret alcove, as you know, so that no impersonators may infiltrate here.”

“Yes, I’ve gotten quite good at a minor healing charm to heal the bites. So, I couldn’t move you? There’s a curse? Or are the statues the problem?” Harry glanced over to the stone statues of serpents against the wall. They always watched him carefully, and he was always _very_ careful to announce if he was going to do a spell.

“Certainly the statues are a barrier to my removal. Should you attempt to remove or damage my mosaic, the stone snake guardians would strike to kill. I believe there are other curses that also may come into effect.”

“Like what?”

“I will not say.”

Harry thought about that and nodded. “Fair enough. I guess you feel safer down here?”

“Safe, yes. Though bored. I hope that one day you will have a large family of Parselmouths, so I have more visitors,” he said with a grin.

Harry shrugged, and looked embarrassed. “Maybe. I was thinking maybe I could make a second mosaic one day, or get someone to make one for me, so you could visit it? The paintings upstairs can visit other portraits.”

“That would be delightful, if it could be managed safely!”

“In the meantime, I learnt some cleaning spells over the holidays? Charms to strengthen and clean old stonework. I practised them upstairs – they all worked fine.”

“You must be completely sure they’re non-damaging to my tiles, or my guardian here won’t be happy,” Ambrosius warned.

Harry blanched, imagining the consequences of a miscast spell. “Maybe I’ll practice a little more, first. Just in case.”

Later, up in the privacy of the boys’ dorm that evening, Harry asked a ‘hypothetical’ question of Neville. “Say I theoretically had information about house-elves, about the curse that’s on them. But I didn’t want to tell Hermione _how_ I found that information out. Do you think she’d accept that? Or would she keep bugging me about it until I told her?”

Neville gave him a look, like he was being a bit thick. “Honestly, Harry.”

Harry’s shoulders slumped. “Yeah. Any ideas?

“About how you could share your ‘hypothetical’ information without being pestered? Not really. You know what she’s like about _anything_ , and that goes double for house-elves. I do not want to pressure you, but… is this some document you found in the Chamber of Secrets?” Neville asked in a whisper.

“Maybe,” Harry admitted cagily. “Not anything I can bring up though, and she can’t go down there safely. There’s curses and other defences. It’s too dangerous for anyone who’s not a Parselmouth.”

Neville nodded thoughtfully.

“Is this information critical to share?” he asked slowly. “Would it change our approach to helping house-elves?”

Hermione was _not_ going to support blood sacrifices. “Probably not,” Harry said slowly. “There’s a way to free house-elves – for good – but it would take the Darkest of magic. Or a lot of knowledge about Dark magic to find another way around breaking the curse. One that doesn’t involve sacrifices.”

Neville looked shocked, then his face firmed in resolution. “ _Do not tell her_ ,” he insisted. “The temptation might be too much for her. Harry, I know you and she read books from the Restricted Section when you can get away with it but delving into that topic is _dangerous_. She might become a Dark witch, just to free house-elves.”

“No she… wouldn’t,” Harry said weakly, his denial losing strength the more he thought about it. How she’d secretively brewed Polyjuice Potion – a restricted potion – in second year. How she complained about censorship and how the Restricted Section should be free for all students, not just seventh-years.

“ _Harry_.”

“Alright… _maybe_ she would. Just to learn a way around it, though. Not to actually cast Dark magic.”

“Promise me you won’t tell her! Her very _soul_ could be in danger! You need to be careful too, Harry!”

Geez. Talk about melodramatic. “Okay, I won’t! It was just a thought. I… I’m trying to be more open. A bit. This seemed important.” He didn’t want her asking a hundred questions about the Chamber of Secrets anyway, and it was true, it wouldn’t _really_ change what they did about house-elves. “I’ll be careful as well, obviously.”

“Thank you, Harry,” Neville said, relaxing in relief. “Is there anything _safe_ that you could share? Maybe we could think of a way to get some of the same information from somewhere else? Not the sacrifice part, though.”

Hmm. Probably not the information about curse tablets, if it took a sacrifice to break their magic. “Uh… the curse passes from mother to child. Blood-based.”

Neville nodded. “Elflings serve their mother’s family,” he said, like it was a known fact. “We can talk about that. Anything else? Hypothetically?”

“Well, lots of it we’d already guessed about it being a curse, obviously. What else? Right, so the curse replaces an elf’s natural bond to draw on the magic of the ley lines in the land with a bond to the family and their home, so they gain power more indirectly. That’s why they wither if they’re not properly bonded – they can’t draw on magic directly any longer. They used to attack wizards and well… probably just about anyone. They were regarded as dangerous and mischievous, if occasionally helpful and valued if given a bowl of cream in exchange for housework help. They were enslaved millennia ago after they attacked people in France.”

Neville gave Harry a very odd look. “I might not be prone to Hermione’s level of inquisitiveness, but I am still very curious too. How exactly did you learn all this?”

Harry’s brow furrowed crossly. “I don’t want to say. It’s traditionally a family secret. I feel like I should respect that.”

“Claiming the mantle of ‘Heir of Slytherin’ officially at last, then?”

Harry shrugged, and sighed. “Yeah. Not much point denying it at this point. Except in public. I still don’t want people treating me differently.”

“They already do, Harry. Most of the Slytherins would probably bow in reverence if given half a chance.”

“It’s still stupid,” Harry grumbled. “Macmillan’s descended from Hufflepuff. No-one treats _him_ differently.”

“They do a _little_ , and he loves the extra respect, but the House of Hufflepuff is not so… formal as Slytherin. They also have more descendants – Macmillan is not the only claimant, just the loudest who is currently at Hogwarts.” Neville tilted his head curiously at Harry. “Any other secrets you want to share with me while you are full of this newfound spirit of openness?”

Harry thought about it. Most of his secrets… no, he didn’t really want to share them. Definitely not the truce with Lord Voldemort. “I’m a Metamorphmagus,” he said, after a little pause for thought. Since Millicent had told Draco word might spread further, and he’d rather Neville heard it from him than from the Hogwarts grapevine. “A little bit. I can change my hair and eyes, and my nose a little, but it takes a lot of concentration and time. I met someone else from the Black family over the holidays – a young witch named Tonks – she can change her whole body in an instant, easy as blinking.”

“All right…” Neville said slowly, looking Harry up and down. “What do you really look like, then? This? Or something else?”

“I… I guess like this?” Harry said hesitantly. He’d rarely thought about it that much before. “My hair might look… I don’t know. Messier, naturally. It used to be very messy and wouldn’t sit flat. I guess it might be longer. I haven’t had a haircut in uh… years. Since I was nine, I think. Honestly? I really don’t know much about how this all works.”

“You should write to your cousin about it. You do not even have to admit your own ability to her, just ask her about how her talent works, since she is open about it.”

Harry brightened. “I will. Thanks for the advice.”

-000-

After a busy weekend Hogwarts classes started in earnest on the Monday. Herbology with the Hufflepuffs was a class only Neville truly enjoyed that day as they spent it squeezing out Bubotuber pus.

Care of Magical Creatures was next, and Professor Hagrid kicked off the year by dividing up the class to look after Fire Crabs as small group projects, which was an unpopular move with some. They were pretty creatures that looked a lot like large tortoises with dazzling, heavily jewelled shells, but their defensive tendency to shoot flames from their rear ends when startled led to more than a few yelps and burns.

Pansy asked their professor, with saccharine sweetness, to demonstrate the spells that were most useful for protecting oneself from the flames, which left him flustered.

Professor Hagrid stumblingly ordered, “Jus’ get on with lookin’ after yer Fire Crabs!”

The interaction made the Slytherins snicker and smirk at their teacher, an indulgence which they seemed to feel was worth the loss of a few points from Slytherin. After class, Draco loudly complained all the way back to the castle about having a teacher who couldn’t demonstrate simple spells, provoking an argument amongst the whole class about Squibs, criminals, and wand rights, and whether you could be a good teacher or not without a wand.

The only thing they all agreed on was that looking after Fire Crabs was a lot better than having to tend the barely-legal Fire Crab and Manticore hybrid abominations that Hagrid had dubbed ‘Blast-Ended Skrewts’. That ‘treat’ was reserved for the sixth and seventh-years, according to the senior students’ disgruntled gossip.

Harry had a free period before lunch and settled in at the library to work on reading some chapters for Human Biology, since their DADA homework wasn’t due for a few more days. Even though sometimes he wished he’d picked Arithmancy too, like Hermione had, he _was_ glad of the extra free time for study and homework. Neville shared his break period while Hermione was off at Arithmancy. Neville’s Gryffindor Divination class overlapped with Harry’s Ancient Runes class for the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws, so the two of them usually had matching free time to study quietly together. Ron and a few other Gryffindors Harry wasn’t especially close to also had that time free but were usually off in the Gryffindor Common Room playing games or roaming about the grounds rather than studying in the library. All their Slytherin friends were busy with either Ancient Runes or Divination during that time slot. So, Harry and Neville usually just studied on their own in the library, with a handful of studious Ravenclaw students from their year employing their time similarly at another table.

Today, however, that changed, as Luna tentatively entered the library, and beamed happily when Neville and Harry waved her over to their table.

She set her bag down on the ground and sat down with a sigh of relief. “How lovely to see you have a free period too! A lot of Ravenclaws from my year are off to Muggle Studies with the Slytherins, and the others do not really want… That is, we are not close. It is nice to have a free period and to see you here.”

“Well congratulations on being a third-year with more free time! You are most welcome as always to join us when you are free,” Neville encouraged. “Right, Harry?”

“Of course,” Harry agreed. “You’re our friend, Luna.”

Luna looked so happy and wobbly-lipped at that pronouncement that Harry feared for a moment she might start crying. However, to his relief she didn’t start sobbing or say a word, she just busied herself getting her books out and silently settled down to study next to them.

When the bell tolled for lunch she stuck with the boys like glue all the way to the Great Hall, enjoying a chat about whether the goat-legged fenodyree were truly a type of elf, or if the term ‘field-elf’ should be discarded in favour of ‘faun’ or ‘satyr’ as a better alternative name.

After lunch, Ancient Runes was Harry’s last class that day. Hermione slid into the seat next to him, chattering happily about how in Arithmancy class they’d started learning how the Floo system worked.

“Think about it, Harry – a fireplace with voice recognition! It converts clearly spoken set phrases into a numerical string, and the whole system takes a _lot_ of Arithmantic calculations to maintain. That’s why you can’t just throw Floo powder into any old fire and just jump in and expect to get where you’re going. The Ministry sends Master Arithmancers to your house to set the charms on your fireplace, or ‘hook you up to the Floo’ as they say. Which really is an _immense_ simplification of a highly complex system developed over centuries and centred at the Ministry,” she babbled happily. “It’s similar to the phone system, really. After the initial connection is established everything seems easy for the user, but elsewhere at a central complex, there’s a _lot_ of work going on in the background to make things work for everyone.”

When Professor Babbling entered the room, some of the students fretted over a white bandage that could be glimpsed on her left arm, insufficiently hidden beneath the voluminous sleeves of her black robe.

“Are you alright?”

“Was it a werewolf? Did you get attacked at the World Cup?”

“Can you still teach us?!”

She held up her hand for silence, and the class quietened with an expectant hush. “Yes, I am on the mend. No, it was not a werewolf, and I can and will continue teaching. I even have a letter from a Healer to attest to that, not that the Headmaster insisted on seeing it though it is now his legal right as my employer. He trusts my word on the matter.

“My wife and I were on holiday in the Aegean Union this summer, in Greece and Turkey. Unfortunately, I got injured by a griffin while we were hiking on Mount Nysa. As it was an injury inflicted by a magical creature, it is of course healing slowly.”

Harry noticed that he and Hermione were the only ones in the class who were even slightly startled by their female teacher’s mention of a wife – currently illegal in Muggle Britain. The rest of the class, all pure-bloods or half-bloods raised in wizarding society, didn’t even blink at that piece of information.

“I’m so glad you’re alright!” Brocklehurst said, with a sigh of relief. “Was your wife hurt too?”

“Constance is just fine,” reassured Babbling. “Now, we must get on with the lesson. Last year we covered the Norse and Anglo-Saxon rune sets, anchoring transfigurations and enchantments. This year we will expand out to cover warding, and working with bone, crystal, glass, embroidery on cloth, and various stones and metals as mediums for rune-carving, and we will discuss elemental and magical affinities. Those of you who discover they have a strong affinity for a particular medium will have my permission to specialise in that, after some trials of the other options. I expect Potter, for instance, will get the strongest results from clay, while Goldstein may find he works best with gold or some precious stones.”

Harry gave Anthony a startled look, but the other boy was just nodding thoughtfully, like he knew this already. Maybe Anthony had covered the idea in Arithmancy already – Harry had heard from Hermione last year about how they’d looked a lot at the magic of names.

Babbling continued her rapid-fire summary. “I will also teach you how to engrave runes invisibly, and how to reveal them.”

 _The Revealing Charm – Aparecium – makes invisible runes appear,_ Harry thought smugly. _I have that mastered already. Learning how to **make** them will be awesome, though._

“After Christmas we will begin studying Ogham – you may wish to start learning and memorising this rune set over the holidays. The rest of the school year will focus on introductory warding and runic circles, and throughout the year we will have some practical crafting exercises with all your rune sets in your double lessons on Mondays, with the exception of this first lesson. Homework will usually be due on Tuesdays.”

 _Ogham_ , thought Harry excitedly. _Of course! I can ask Babbling about Ogmius!_

There was no leisure to ask her during class time, of course, as everyone frantically scribbled down tables of notes on all the various species of wood and types of stone and which enchantments they were best suited to when engraving.

At the end of class Harry hung around to ask Professor Babbling if she could recommend any books on Ogma, also known as Ogmius, and left with a couple of suggestions.

Hermione had been waiting for him outside the classroom. “Getting a head start on Ogham, Harry?” she asked.

“I’m curious about a lot of things,” he said with a smile. “If I learn anything really good in my reading, I’ll share it with you.”

-000-

“Three Unforgiveables. All terrible curses, the vilest known to mankind. All striking directly at the soul in one fashion or another. I asked you to think and write about which one is the _worst_ ,” said Professor Moody, as they passed their homework up to the front. He surveyed the class with his eerie wandering gaze as they all looked gravely thoughtful.

“Show of hands. Who argued that the Killing Curse is the worst?” About three quarters of the students put their hands up, including Ron and Hermione.

“Torture Curse?” Most of the remaining students put their hands up, unsurprisingly including Neville.

“Last one – who thinks the Imperius Curse is the worst?” Only Harry and Eloise Midgen put their hands up for that one.

Moody pointed to Ron. “Weasley – why did you pick the Killing Curse?”

“Well… if you’re dead it’s all over, right? There’s no chance to escape or anything. The others still give you a chance to survive. Dead is dead. Well, except maybe if you’re Harry Potter.”

A few people laughed at that, which embarrassed Harry a little.

“Good answer! Five points.”

Ron puffed up proudly. He didn’t often earn so many points for their House.

Moody’s gaze drifted across the room and lingered on Neville for a moment before moving on. “Thomas! You picked Crucio – summarise why it’s worse than the others.”

“Because it’s pain so bad you’ll _want_ to die. I’d rather die fast than in horrible agony. You’d have to be a right bas- Dark wizard or witch to want to torture someone instead of killing them quick and clean,” explained Thomas. “Plus to cast it they’ve got to want someone to really suffer, not just want you dead and out of their way. That sounds a lot more evil to me.”

“Another excellent answer, another five points! The last curse wasn’t so popular a pick – Potter, explain your reasoning.”

“Well, I think if the victim can’t break free from the Imperius Curse then it’s the worst for sure. Because with that curse you could _make_ someone kill, or torture – even their own friends and family. Make them do anything you wanted, no matter how horrible. It enslaves the soul and turns people into puppets. So, I think it’s the worst because you could make innocent people do horrible things that they’ll regret for the rest of their lives _and_ kill or torture with it.”

Moody grinned at him. “Superb. Best answer yet. Midgen, do you agree with Potter here?”

“Yes, sir. I also agree because it’s not just theory – Dark wizards have done exactly that in some of the wars. I read up on some Aurors’ stories, and there was this incident in Poland where Grindelwald cast the Imperius Curse on a half-blood witch who refused to join him, and she went home and killed her whole family. Then she emptied her vault and gave all her money and her wand to Grindelwald. He let the spell lapse then, and she tried to strangle him to death with her bare hands. She died in a barrage of curses from his bodyguards. I think that’s a whole lot worse than just _one_ person dying or being tortured – she killed her whole family! That’s a lot of suffering and death from just one spell. Surely you’d rather be tortured or killed yourself than let that happen?”

“Excellent again! You and Potter take five points each for Gryffindor. There is _nothing_ worse than the Imperius Curse! You think it’s bad dying? How about being ordered to kill dozens of people and then throw yourself off a roof? Don’t like the idea of torture from a Dark wizard? How about being ordered to torture your own family and friends, or your own mother being made to torture _you_?”

Neville looked like he was going to be sick. Harry honestly thought his friend was going to spew over their desks at any moment, and eyed him worriedly.

“If you learn nothing else in my class this year, I want you to learn how to break free of the most horrible curse in existence. But you’ve only got a month at most to master it before we must move on to other subjects, so _no slacking_!” He seemed to be particularly looking at Harry for this bit, and Harry wondered if it was because someone had told him he was a slacker. He’d gotten _great_ marks in DADA last year! The Dursleys wouldn’t be able to bad-mouth him like they used to, so who was gossiping nastily? After a moment’s further thought, he guessed that _maybe_ someone had in fact said _good_ things about him and his work ethic in Defence class. Perhaps Moody’s challenging look implied that he was in fact expecting Harry to excel, just like how Flitwick and Slughorn did.

Hermione fretted out loud about the legality of casting the Imperius Curse on students, but Moody waved away her concerns.

“Dumbledore wants you all to know what it feels like, and be able to fight it off,” he said, staring at her with his natural eye, while his artificial one rolled around to look at the class. Harry felt like it kept rolling over to stare at him. “He has _concerns_ and doesn’t want his students turned into puppets. If, however, any of you want to be easy prey for any Death Eaters who want to play games with you like a Kneazle with a mouse, then you know where the door is.”

Hermione muttered, “I didn’t say I wanted to _leave_ , I was just wondering.”

Moody cast the spell on them one by one, and students obediently danced, and hopped, and imitated squirrels. When it was Harry’s turn, he found being under the Imperius a lovely sensation. His attempts at Occlumency didn’t seem to help much, for he was braced against what he’d expected would be vicious mind control like talons in his mind, and what he felt instead was a soothing sensation as all his worries were washed away, leaving him feeling fuzzy-minded and happy.

_Jump onto the desk…_

Harry jumped up onto a desk obediently when he heard the command in his mind. For what harm could that possibly do? It was always best to keep adults happy, as much as possible.

It was jarring to be brought out of the curse. He felt disappointed to have failed miserably at fighting it off.

He had another couple of tries, however, for while everyone in the class had at least a couple of goes, Moody seemed determined to test Harry in particular.

Harry strengthened his Occlumency visualisations as much as possible. However, even on the third try Harry clucked like a chicken after only a moment’s hesitation, flapping his arms for wings.

“How do you fight it, sir?” Harry asked worriedly, once he’d stopped clucking. “I’ve tried being calm with a clear mind, focusing on an image, and also of course being determined. None of it is helping.”

“It isn’t an easy task, Potter. Even the best wizards are still vulnerable to it,” Moody said gravely. “It is all about _will_ , in the end. You have to want to be free more than anything else in the world. Fight the feeling of comfort that makes following the commands easy, stretch for any loophole you can find to exert your own will once more. You must hate the caster with every fibre of your being. You must want to kill, or die, rather than do what they are telling you. It’s not enough to simply not want to act like a chicken. You have to be so determined that you’d rather _die_ than be a chicken.”

A couple of people snickered, but Harry just nodded thoughtfully. “Can I try again, sir?” He hated being under the curse but being able to fight it off? That would be _incredible_ if he could manage it.

Moody grinned, which was a rather terrifying expression on his scarred face. “By all means, Potter, and I think perhaps I have an idea to give you a little more motivation. _Imperio!_ ”

Harry braced, trying to remember to think of his professor as a hated enemy, someone who would command Harry to kill all his friends if Harry gave in to the Imperius Curse’s smothering feeling of pleasant dreaminess. He held the thought inside his mental shields as best he could, protected somewhat from the wash of calm even as he felt the floating sensation begin again. Everything was easy again. All he had to do was obey, and everything would be fine. Moody would be pleased with him, and Harry would be so happy.

_Give me your wand, then stand still so I can kill you…_

Moody’s voice echoed in Harry’s relaxed and empty mind.

 _That sounds dangerous_ , he thought very vaguely. _Enemy?_

Harry reached into his robe pocket and drew out his wand. Perhaps it was better to go along with things. Everyone would be happier. It was safer to be cooperative and obedient.

_Give me your wand, then stand still so I can kill you…_

The command resonated in Harry’s mind, but a part of him behind his mental walls fought against it. _No, that’s a stupid idea. Defence teachers are always dangerous. Remember, think of him as the enemy._

“Nnn…” Harry said in a choked-off refusal, as he shakily and slowly held his wand out. Moody reached out his hand to receive it.

_It’s my wand. I won’t be defenceless. Mine! He could kill me!_

Moody moved to grab Harry’s wand, and while Harry couldn’t quite muster up the mental resistance to be able to lower his outstretched arm, he managed to force his feet to take a couple of stumbling steps backwards, until he hit a desk and fell over in a tangled heap, still clutching his wand tightly.

The dreamy lassitude fell away as Moody dropped the spell.

“Look at that, you lot! Potter fought it, and damn near beat it!” Moody crowed approvingly. “Watch his eyes, that’s where you’ll see it. We just needed the right motivation.”

With a few more tries before class ended, Harry partially fought off a command to grovel on the floor before Moody and beg to be his servant, managing to chokingly cut off his plea halfway through. He finally managed to shake off a command almost instantly when ordered to close his eyes and put his hands in the air (he really hated the double feeling of vulnerability).

Neville eagerly begged Harry for tips on fighting the Imperius Curse after class, and he wasn’t the only one. Later, Draco in particular was adamant on wringing out every ounce of knowledge from Harry when a large group of Harry’s friends gathered in the library for a study session.

“Moody said my family was known for being _weak_ against the Imperius Curse. He _humiliated_ me in our class,” Draco complained, in a hushed, ashamed voice. “I need every tip you can share on beating it.”

“It was not just you,” rumbled Greg. “He was mean to a lot of us. I think he bears a grudge.”

“My father will hear about this!”

“There’s a surprise,” muttered Neville to Harry, who exerted some effort to keep a straight face.

“You were writing to him about Quidditch too, weren’t you?” Harry asked loudly. “How’s that going?”

“Yes, and he has promised his aid in our cause. Also, my badges are ready, and the first batch is available for sale!” Draco proclaimed proudly. “I have some Hufflepuffs and a couple of Ravenclaws working on making more, and there are at least two students from every House who will be selling them.”

He showed off the badges, which displayed the words ‘Save Quidditch!' in luminous white calligraphy. When pressed the badges would switch to a new image of the Hogwarts Giant Squid holding four tiny brooms in some outstretched tentacles, with the word ‘SQuid’ curling above it – the abbreviation for the movement’s name.

“The senior Ravenclaws are working on tweaking it to display the image and picture in House colours,” Draco explained, “and to animate the Giant Squid so it waves the brooms around. However, these should be enough to get us started, and are House-neutral.”

“What if someone buys a plain badge now, but wants a House badge later?” Harry asked.

Draco shrugged unconcernedly. “Then we have made twice as much money.”

“The petition is going well,” said Luna. “I think half of Ravenclaw has already signed it, it is _so_ long!”

“At least three quarters of Gryffindor have signed ours, though there’s some holdouts who side with the Headmaster and think the sole focus should be on the Triwizard Tournament this year. I don’t think we’ll get any more signatures,” Harry said. “The Weasley twins have pressured just about _everyone_ to sign.”

“Speaking of Weasleys,” Daphne said, a teasing smirk on her face, “a little owl told me you and Ronald had a bit of an altercation in the corridor this morning after breakfast, Draco…”

Draco scowled. “He should stop eavesdropping on other people’s conversations.”

Greg and Vincent murmured their dutiful agreement.

“I heard you were spitting up slugs all the way to the Hospital Wing,” Daphne said sweetly.

“At least _I_ wasn’t dancing in my own vomit while my hair fell out,” Draco said smugly. “I believe I won that impromptu duel.”

“What started it?” Daphne asked, curiosity dancing in her eyes.

Pansy and Tracey leant forwards eagerly to listen to his answer too. Millicent, meanwhile, was off somewhere in the library stacks, accompanying Hermione who’d wandered off with Mafalda Prewett. Mafalda had stopped by their table to say hello to Harry and ask his advice about good books for reading up on charms “just for fun”, and Hermione had eagerly volunteered to help a fellow studious soul.

“We were talking about the _Daily Prophet’s_ article on Lockhart from this morning, and the Weaselette took offence,” Draco explained. “Then Weasley started going about the Quidditch World Cup and calling my father a Death Eater.”

There was a strained and awkward silence amongst the group, which Luna broke by asking, “Is he?”

“No! Of course not!” Draco insisted. “He was Imperiused in the last war, and that is _all_. Weasley was out of line throwing around accusations with no valid evidence.”

 _He looks sincere_ , Harry thought. _Hurt, even._ _But then… Draco is a very good liar_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Curse tablets – Search on defixio or defixiones if you want to [learn more about these](http://curses.csad.ox.ac.uk/beginners/intro-britain.shtml).  
> Ogmius – This is the Latin spelling variant. You may have more luck searching on Ogmios or Ogma if you are curious and want to research him further.  
> A_Boleyn – Info for you this chapter about why access to Merlin’s mosaic was/is restricted.   
> Darkov – Group project time! Darkov wrote about how Harry was lucky Hogwarts didn’t have group projects (which let’s face it are exhausting and tough), which immediately made me think I needed to introduce one. ;)


	4. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Various secrets are shared. Some are welcome news, others not so much.

**_September 1994_ **

“Hello again, Ambrosius. It’s still September, the uh… eleventh, I think. Sunday evening.”

“Welcome Harry, it is nice to see you again. Where is Storm this evening?”

“Off having a swim. Apparently, there’s an underwater tunnel to the Black Lake in the pool upstairs, that he can get through. He’s promised to stay in the shallows and not get himself hurt,” Harry said, a little worriedly. His mind was dancing with all the possible horrible things that could happen to Storm, but he didn’t want his pet – and friend – to feel trapped.

“How were your ‘Potter Watch’ meetings today? Second Sunday of the month, isn’t it?”

“Yes. They went… mostly well. Diggory bowed out so Angelina Johnson’s teaching the junior group. He said he might help out later, as an assistant. She’s starting them off working on the wood to silver transfiguration, and lecturing about non-magical defences against werewolves like silver, fire, and wolfsbane. Everyone’s still on edge about the attack over summer, so it was a good thing to begin with, I think. Oh, and she’s going to do the Jelly-Legs Jinx next.”

“How did your group go? You are still leading your peers, correct?”

“Yes, for now at least. We’re starting with reviewing and practicing the Stunning Spell – Stupefy – and its counter-charm. Oh, and guess what? Susan Bones from Hufflepuff showed up. She got infected by a werewolf over summer – I’ll tell you all about that in a minute – and she walked in all wary of people’s reactions, and the room went all quiet. I mean, I said ‘welcome’, but it was still all awkward. You know what happened next? _Daphne Greengrass_ walked right up to Bones and _hugged_ her! They’re not even friends, as far as I know, but Daphne just hugged her just like that, and she didn’t let go, and Bones started to _cry_. It was a mess! Then all the Hufflepuffs, and a few other huggy students like Hermione just piled on and did a ‘Hufflehug’. They were all weeping, and laughing, and it took _ages_ to get the meeting started. But Bones seemed a lot more happy after that, so that’s good. Daphne told me later she has an uncle who’s a werewolf, so Daphne’s very in favour of werewolf rights.”

“It is not too close to the full moon, I hope? Strong emotions can be dangerous for werewolves, at that time.”

“Another week away,” reassured Harry. “Bones isn’t looking forward to it. It’ll be her first full moon. Professor Slughorn’s making her the Wolfsbane Potion, though, so that’s something.”

They chatted about modern developments in potions for a while – which Ambrosius said Madam Hufflepuff would have been fascinated by – before Ambrosius gently asked, “Did you want to talk about the less pleasant aspects of your summer, now?”

Harry nodded. “Yes, I suppose. If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.”

Ambrosius was as safe a confidant as Harry could imagine, hidden away in a secret room within the Chamber of Secrets. The entry was guarded by a stone snake that demanded a pinprick bite of a blood test every time Harry entered the room, as identification to prove he was not someone impersonating the Heir of Slytherin. (Harry had recently come to suspect that the tiny blood offerings also helped renew the serpent’s enchantments, now he knew a little more about runic magic.) Even should the Dark Lord infiltrate the castle and the Chamber undetected, the charms on the mosaic ensured that Ambrosius couldn’t be forced to reveal any secrets he didn’t wish to. Enchanted snake statues also watched over his image, ready to strike at anyone who physically or magically tried to damage the precious, ancient mosaic.

Harry’s secrets spilled out of him one by one, and it felt both painful and freeing. It started with just a few facts about the attacks in Gabon and at the World Cup, until more and more came pouring out of him, like a boil had been lanced to let out all his fears, guilt, and uncertainties. Harry told him all about his treaty of neutrality with Lord Voldemort, aka Tom Riddle. He shared his continuing bewilderment about why the Dark Lord was focusing so much on him, his guilt about not dealing properly with the diary in the first place and how now Pettigrew had been possessed by it, leading to deaths and injuries. He talked about his pagan beliefs and guilty sympathy for the Dark Lord’s isolationist stance and political goals, except for the depth of the man’s anti-Muggle stance. If it wasn’t for the deaths of his parents and the sheer gory violence of Lord Voldemort and his followers, he shakily admitted that he might have been even more sympathetic to their goals of religious freedoms, and rights for werewolves, vampires, and other oppressed creatures. He didn’t have much love or admiration for the bureaucratically bloated Ministry, either. It wasn’t most of the Dark’s beliefs he disagreed with, just their violent methods, and he felt like he couldn’t tell _anyone_ about it.

His most overwhelming concern, however, that he desperately sought advice on, was his fear for his friends’ lives and wellbeing… and secondarily for himself. For the Dark Lord – or _Lords_ since there were two of them at the moment – seemed likely to increase his, or their, terrorist attacks.

“It’s not that I really _want_ to have any kind of association with him,” Harry explained guiltily, wiping a few tears from his reddened eyes, “and I’m sure it will all go wrong sooner or later… but he said I can ensure my friends’ safety if I maintain a regular correspondence with him, and stay out of the fighting. Do you think I did the right thing?”

Ambrosius wore a sympathetic look as he stroked his grey beard thoughtfully. “Well, it is hard to judge without a complete picture of the situation, and I suspect you don’t have all the details either. That is a heavy burden of secrets and expectations you carry for a young man. A child still by the current standards of your time, I believe. In my day you would have been considered old enough to marry and father children, and go to war for your king–”

Harry made a choking noise, and Ambrosius looked at him sympathetically.

“–and your support for his cause would be irrelevant. So long as he was a _good_ king you should follow him gladly wherever he led. But _times change_. The kings are gone and a powerless queen rules now; she may sit on the throne but her court of ministers have seized hold of the reins of the country, as they have for generations. No doubt the ancient ties binding the king and queen to the land are long lost. War has changed too. Tom spoke of the Great War and the new war with Germania, so I know child soldiers are not approved of in these modern days, at least by mortals. However a child is defined, a child should not have to fight, and I understand you are still judged to be not of age, not wearing the _toga virilis_ or given your first sword or whatever symbol of manhood they ritually grant these days in your manhood ceremony.”

“I think your closest male relative gives you a watch,” Harry said faintly, “and if you’re part of a House you can assume titles. When you’re seventeen. Muggles count you as an adult at eighteen. I don’t know if there’s a ritual ceremony, I don’t think so. We have birthday parties though.”

“A _watch_. Tch! No appreciation for liminal ceremonies these days,” Merlin tutted. “Well, I would support your choice to fight if you wished it, but you do _not_. And a soldier _forced_ to fight – especially an untried youth – is as much a liability on the battlefield as an aid. You are a child of your time and should not be forced into war. So no, I do not think you have done the wrong thing in accepting the offered truce. However, it is a shameful thing for Tom to have demanded one. It should be a matter of course that children are left out of wars, not something that needs to be negotiated and formalised. I think you have made a good choice, given that in many ways all your options are poor ones.”

“Yeah, they are,” Harry said, with a resigned sigh.

“It is difficult to judge from second-hand accounts, but I would caution you to keep in mind that Tom making the safety of your friends contingent on a continued correspondence shows that he is not truly interested in neutrality – one way or another the truce is unlikely to last forever. He clearly seeks an alliance or friendship, or the matter would have been settled more brusquely.”

“But I don’t want an alliance!”

“Yes, he clearly knows that, which is why he is blackmailing you into an acquaintance with him with the safety of your friends at stake. Eventually, I think it likely that he will demand more. There is an opportunity there – if you can discern why your friendship is so important to him, you may gain the upper hand in your negotiations. He may be speaking of war with you, but I suspect that threat is, while not entirely hollow, very much not an outcome he desires. Or he would not, while busily leading a rebellion, take the time to negotiate with and write letters to a single fourteen-year-old boy who would happily stay out of the war _even without a truce_.”

Harry nodded thoughtfully. Some of that he’d figured out for himself, but he hadn’t thought before about how the Dark Lord wanting a friendship more than Harry did gave _him_ power too. “I know there was a prophecy, something involving me and him. Quirrell… sorry, the Dark Lord, said it was why he attacked me and my family when I was a baby. But he also said he believed now that it had already been fulfilled when he was vanquished a decade ago.”

“Do you believe him?”

“I… don’t know. I think so. But it could be a lie. Maybe he is still scared that if he attacks me he’ll be defeated again.”

“What does the prophecy say?”

“I don’t know.”

Ambrosius tutted disapprovingly. “Well, that’s just foolishness. You must find out what it says – your life may literally depend on it. How could you not seek it out the instant you heard about it?”

“Well, Snape hinted he was under an Unbreakable Vow and couldn’t tell me what it was, and the Dark Lord’s certainly not going to tell me, and even if he _did_ I couldn’t trust he was telling me the truth. Who else could I ask?” Harry replied defensively.

“Difficult. Doubly so since you doubt Snape’s loyalties. Yet he appears to have a genuine regard for your welfare, from all you’ve told me of – and complained about – this past year or two. You could ask him to list the most renowned Seers of your age – that might be sufficient to work around his vow. If he knows the prophecy, he most likely knows the Seer who gave it. There must also be at least one other person who knows of it, the one who bound him to secrecy. Think on who that might be. Tom seems a likely candidate, but another may have done it too. That person is unlikely to be a safe person to approach, however, if their need for secrecy is so desperate to resort to binding a man’s soul.”

“It would either have been the Dark Lord or the Headmaster,” Harry said. “I know from Snape’s hints that the Headmaster bound him from directly telling anyone Lupin was a werewolf, so Dumble… the Headmaster probably heard – or perhaps gave – the prophecy.”

“Discover the words and come and recite it to me, and we shall discuss its interpretation. Interpreting prophecies is always a tricky business, and you should certainly not blunder around ignorant of a fate hanging over your head. I am not skilled at many of your modern techniques and charms, but time magic was a specialisation of mine.”

“And prophecies, too?”

“Prophecies _are_ time magic. Divination is peering through the mists of time. Touching objects to learn their history. Gazing into a sacred pool to see visions of the future. Casting the runes to see if a chosen path bears good or ill fortune. Drawing out memories of the past into a chalice for others to see when they drink from it. Physically travelling through time is just the most powerful version – moving your body through the aether instead of just opening your soul to its flow as one with Second Sight does.”

Harry nodded. “I didn’t pick Divination as a subject; I just didn’t feel very talented at it. I did once feel this sense of connection with my parents at Samhain, though. Very faintly.”

“Connecting with spirits who have journeyed on is not quite the same thing, though it is related in that you must open up your soul. Your skill in learning how to call your protective Genius spirit – the hippocampus – shows you might have a little talent for that. Do you know if a talent for divination runs in your family?”

“I don’t know. Lupin told me over summer all about how my dad and his friends learnt how to be Animagi to keep him company when he transformed into a werewolf. He told me over dinner one night that dad was a stag. Dad was good at Transfiguration, and my mum was good at Charms and Ancient Runes. Oh, and I know that the Metamorphmagus talent comes from my paternal grandmother’s family, the Blacks. It’s a Black family talent, but maybe I told you that already? Anyway, I got to meet someone else from that line over summer who also has the skill, but she’s much better at it than I am.”

“You should ask her for tutoring, then.”

“That’s what Neville suggested too. I wrote to her with a few questions, but I haven’t gotten a reply yet. I like the glamour spell we made up better anyway–”

“You should practice that more, too.”

“–and I think I’ve got a hang of the little bit I can do as a Metamorphmagus.”

“It sounds like shapechanging runs in your father’s line, then. Parselmouth abilities from the Parkinsons on your mother’s side, perhaps.”

“Maybe. Or from the Blacks, again. Phineas – that’s a portrait of an ancestor – didn’t know of any Parselmouths in the family, but there’s certainly a lot of snake decorations all over the place at their old home.”

“Either way, those are earth or water affinity talents, and not very compatible with the airy nature possessed by those with innate talent at Divination.”

“I thought maybe my affinity was air? I’m a natural at flying on a broomstick.”

Ambrosius shook his head. “No, weather talents or Flying – unaided by a tool – would show an affinity to air. Using a broomstick well just shows talent at channelling magic.”

“What?”

“The broomstick,” Ambrosius said patiently. “You channel magic into it to make it fly. Like using a staff or a wand.”

“ _That’s_ why they don’t work for Muggles or Squibs?”

“Indeed. For mortals, it is nothing but a dead stick and twigs, suitable only for sweeping floors. Incidentally, you should apply the same skill you utilise to summon a broomstick to your hand to practice summoning your wand when disarmed, since you are all so oddly dependent on your wands these days. As it is so attuned to you, it should be one of the easiest wandless magics to learn, after broomstick use or potions brewing. Remember, you also connect to potions with your magic, via the medium of your stirring implement. It is all the same skill. It is something you should consider practising with your senior ‘Potter Watch’ group.”

“I will, thanks. Did you teach… Tom how to do it? Back when he was young?”

“We didn’t speak often, so no. However, I do recall that during in a long conversation about the decline of the wizarding race he was very interested to hear of the talent a rare few have for Flying. I remember it was something he sounded very determined to master – being able to turn into insubstantial smoke or mist in the face of a threat and fly away along ethereal currents. The ley lines provide the fastest travel routes. I don’t know if it appealed to him because he thought it a good defence against the horrors of the ‘world war’ of his age, or whether he thought it would be an impressive talent to show off to his friends. Perhaps a little of both.”

-000-

Hermione dropped her book-laden bag on the ground with a heavy thump and slumped down into a library chair with a scowl.

Daphne gave Harry a discreet kick under the table and flicked her eyes meaningfully towards Hermione. It took him a moment – and another kick – but Harry grasped her unspoken command eventually.

“Uh…How did your tutoring session with Mafalda go, Hermione?” Harry asked.

“Fine,” she huffed.

“Oh, that’s good,” Harry said, wondering how to best find out what the problem was, as Daphne glared at him. Maybe a Gryffindor approach would suit best – he could just ignore the problem and focus on cheering her up, or else bluntly demand she tell him what was wrong. Or, since Hermione had a dash of Ravenclaw in her, perhaps an appeal to logic would be the best? He could ask her to outline the problem for them, so they could brainstorm possible solutions.

It was times like this that Harry felt his group of friends could really benefit from the addition of a huggy Hufflepuff who was good at talking to upset people and helping them feel better.

 _What would a Hufflepuff do?_ Harry asked himself. _They’re good at this stuff._

“Is something wrong?” he asked Hermione. “Do you… want to talk about how you’re feeling? Umm… because that’s what friends do, and we’re all friends here? Do you need a hug?”

Everyone stared at him, wide-eyed, and he ducked his head in embarrassment. “I just figured it might help. It works for Hufflepuffs.”

Hermione snorted in amusement and patted him on the forearm. “It’s a very kind offer, Harry, but no, I don’t need a hug.”

“So, what’s wrong?” Gryffindor method it was. He should have gone with his first instinct.

“It’s silly, really. It’s Prewett… she said… She said Charms theory was a _cinch_. She said she got her match transformed into a silver needle on her _first_ try _and_ got ten points for Slytherin from Professor McGonagall!” Hermione said, sounding aggrieved. “She kept interrupting me when I was trying to talk, and then she said she didn’t think she’d need my tutoring to catch up with the pure-bloods after all.”

“Jolly good work there for a first-year!” Daphne said, sounding impressed. “She may be one to watch after all.”

“Are you… jealous, Hermione?” asked Millicent. “She is only a first-year – certainly no match for you.”

“A bit, I suppose,” sighed Hermione. “I managed to turn my match a little bit silver and pointy on my first try, but it took me _weeks_ to do a full transfiguration with the right shape, and the needle’s eye! _Ten points_! I only got _five_. And McGonagall’s _our_ Head of House!”

“Professor McGonagall tries hard to be scrupulously unbiased,” Neville said, quick to rise to her defence.

“I could arrange for someone to sabotage Prewett in her next class, as a favour,” Millicent offered in a confidential whisper.

Daphne looked appalled. “Slytherin rule!” she hissed to Millicent, reminding her that they weren’t allowed to display any infighting in public.

“No!” Hermione cried. “No. Being good at her classes and being a bit too smug about it doesn’t mean she deserves _that_. She wasn’t being mean, she was just proud of how well she’s doing. No, absolutely not.”

“I was merely offering to help,” mumbled Millicent, looking put out.

“Thank you, but no,” Hermione said firmly.

“So that’s what’s bothering you? She’s a magical prodigy?” asked Harry.

“And she skips History of Magic classes,” grumbled Hermione. “Even though you’re not allowed to do that. She says most of Slytherin does it, so she’s doing it too. How do you even pass your exams that way?”

Daphne smirked. “We have a roster system in Slytherin. Along with the person on the roster, a few people choose to go to class to do quiet study or to nap, while many others do their own thing elsewhere. There is a single designated note taker per class who has to pay attention and make notes on what Binns says, underlining anything that seems of particular interest which was not mentioned in the textbook. Notes are duplicated and shared amongst the class. It is a grand and efficient system that has worked for years.”

“It’s _cheating_ ,” Hermione complained, “and it’s against the school rules. You can’t just skip classes because you don’t like them!”

“Binns isn’t going to do anything about it, though; he doesn’t even notice. Also, Slughorn is just as happy to look the other way as Snape was.”

“It doesn’t make it _right_ ,” grumbled Hermione. “It’s like taking advantage of a teacher with dementia. It’s not _fair_. At least Harry _shows up_ for History of Magic, even though he doesn’t pay attention, and he spends his time studying. I think.”

Millicent smirked knowingly across the table at Harry, who shifted uncomfortably. “I do study,” he insisted defensively, “I even study History of Magic, sometimes. The interesting bits. Binns is doing goblin rebellions of the 18th century this year – you can’t expect me to pay attention to _that_.”

“There are weekly essays! You _have_ to pay attention if you want to do well!”

Harry shrugged. “Only final exams matter, and at that, only in fifth and seventh year.” His weekly essays were always perfunctory, token efforts.

“They are vital practice, and _mandatory_!”

“Just avoid Prewett if you do not like her,” Daphne advised Hermione, smoothly deflecting Hermione from her growing outrage at Harry. “You are not a prefect – you don’t have to talk to a firstie if you don’t want to, and her family connections are close to worthless since the Prewetts aren’t acknowledging her. Making contact with us – through Harry – is the best she has managed, and she is not likely to climb much higher.”

Hermione sighed. “I don’t mind her connections. I promised to join her bible study group.”

Daphne and Pansy exchanged a quick glance. “You need not do that either,” Daphne said cautiously.

“Oh, I _want_ to. It’s a great idea! It’s just…”

“-She’s very annoying?” finished Daphne, as Hermione trailed off.

“Yes,” Hermione agreed, with a guilty flinch.

“Where’s Tracey?” Hermione asked, changing the topic abruptly. “And the boys?”

“She is off with her darling Anthony again,” Daphne replied, “and Draco’s dragged the other boys along to a badge-making session for the new House-themed badges. Where’s Luna today, Harry?”

“Off talking to Slughorn about reserving the club room for the nineteenth for Hermione’s party,” Harry replied. “She wants to be a ‘good client’, so I’m trying to give her little things to do now and then, but I don’t really know what I’m doing. I don’t want to treat her like a servant or anything, so I’m trying to stick to things I’d be happy to ask any friend to do, if they weren’t busy.”

“You are doing fine, cousin,” Pansy reassured. “Nothing is really official until we are seventeen, anyway. This is all just… practice, so it is alright if you make mistakes. Which you rarely do, these days.”

“You don’t need to make a fuss about my birthday,” Hermione said, looking embarrassed.

“We _want_ to,” Neville insisted. “You are our friend.”

“Well, if you insist,” Hermione said, ducking her head to hide the pleased smile spreading across her face.

-000-

Hermione’s birthday party on Monday afternoon was a casual affair, like she’d insisted upon, with a simple buffet of leftovers from lunch for people to snack on plus a honey cake, and an open invitation for any friends interested to come along.

All of their usual group of friends showed up, including Draco, who Hermione greeted with stiff civility. Attendees from Gryffindor included Lavender Brown, Parvati Patil, Ron Weasley, and Colin Creevey, the latter at Harry’s special request as party photographer. Harry had thought Hermione might like some pictures to send home to her parents, as an extra birthday gift from him along with the book on French history, and Neville had agreed it was a great idea. From Slytherin, Theodore also joined their party, as well as the first-year Mafalda Prewett, and Mafalda’s friend Emma Dobbs whom she’d brought along for company.

Daphne whispered confidentially to Harry that Dobbs was a half-blood with a Muggle father, to which Harry whispered back irritatedly that he _didn’t care_ what her blood status was, provoking a shocked look from her.

The last extra guests were a little startling to some of the more hide-bound students – some house-elves had been invited to attend as guests. Dobby was taking to his role as a guest with eager enthusiasm. He was circulating around the room with an air of confidence – Harry couldn’t tell whether it was faked or genuine – chatting with various H.E.L.P. Society members. Several other Hogwarts house-elves had come along too, including Winky, who seemed positively worshipful of Hermione, if generally downcast in spirit. She, like most of the other house-elves, couldn’t seem to help themselves from tidying away dirty plates and offering food to other guests. The only other house-elves who seemed to have Dobby’s ability to _not_ work, when requested, were Jilly, the elderly female head house-elf who was in charge of the kitchen, and Letry, who was a middle-aged male house-elf who had the responsibility for supervising the house-elves who cleaned Gryffindor tower. He and Hermione seemed very well acquainted, and he was cheerfully chatting with her about house-elf literacy rates, calmly ignoring some dirty glasses rimmed with drying pumpkin juice pulp on a nearby side-table.

Harry asked Letry later how he was managing to fight the impulse to tidy. “Dobby said it’s not his house, so it’s not his responsibility to clean here. But you’re a Hogwarts house-elf, so how are you coping and looking so relaxed?”

“Letry is responsible for Gryffindor tower,” the little house-elf explained in his squeaky voice. “This is not that tower. Miss Hermione wants us to join her party, and Letry wants to make her happy. Miss Hermione is very kind! Letry likes helping with the H.E.L.P. Society too – Miss Hermione says her mother is explaining how important it is that house-elves has a voice in our own futures, and not have things decided for us by someone else. So, Miss Hermione is inviting us to more meetings and things this year. Letry wants Miss Hermione’s family to be happy with her – and being a good guest is Letry’s birthday gift to her, like Miss Hermione asked for.”

“Thank you for explaining, Letry.”

The little house-elf bowed, then wandered back to hover around Hermione again.

Hermione had a great time opening all her presents. While not an impressive pile when compared to Dudley’s typical mountain of gifts, it was still a good haul. Brown and Patil had bought Hermione a jar of Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion and some hair clips and ribbons in red and gold. Ron gave her an embroidered bookmark, and Neville got her a little pot plant. Most of the Slytherins had pooled their resources and collectively bought her some clothing accessories – a new pointed hat with a lavish display of dyed red and gold owl feathers on one side, a second hat with a purple ribbon and a pretty brass buckle, and a purple satin reticule to wear at her waist to hold her money and assorted small belongings.

Pansy and Greg’s joint gift was the most extravagant of the afternoon, however. They proudly presented her with the result of their commissioned research into her ancestry; a scroll detailing Hermione’s family tree in beautiful calligraphy, plus an old book. Most of the names were written in black ink, but Hermione’s name, three of her ancestors, and one long-deceased relative on a side branch of the family tree were written in a magically shimmering royal purple.

“There, on your mother’s side,” Greg explained happily, pointing at a married couple whose names were both written in glimmering purple. “Your closest wizarding ancestor is Quobna Ottobah Cugoano, also known as John Stuart. Born in Fantyn – that’s in Muggle Ghana now – in the 1750’s. He was a wizard, and we know his father was too – a shaman in Ghana who was a companion to the chief in Fantee. Quobna Cugoano’s wife was Frances Wilson, an English Muggle-born and Hogwarts graduate with no known wizarding family connections.”

“Once while we were chatting about house-elves, my mother told me we had an ancestor who was a slave from the Lesser Antilles who became an abolitionist,” Hermione said eagerly, eyes flicking over the scroll trying to read everything at once. “I didn’t know that he was a wizard!”

“Well, her information helped our researcher immensely,” Pansy said, taking over the explanation. “Cugoano was enslaved at the age of thirteen – he had a premonition that day of trouble but unfortunately his young companions taunted him about being a coward and accused him of getting visions from the devil. So, he went to the woods with them despite his prescient feeling of doom, and was caught by ruffians, and shipped to the Lesser Antilles before coming to England some years later. You can read all about it in his book – we got a copy for you! _Thoughts and Sentiments on the Evil and Wicked Traffic of the Slavery and Commerce of the Human Species_. Your maternal grandfather had an old copy, another piece of evidence! This is a duplicate we found for sale.”

Harry thought with guilty amusement that perhaps Hermione had inherited not just her ancestor’s magic and zealotry about freeing slaves, but also a family hatred for succinctness in writing.

“This… is… _amazing_!” Hermione gushed. “Thank you both so much!”

“Oh, you are most welcome!” Pansy said, looking pleased.

“Yes, you’re welcome. He was freed shortly after being shipped to England,” Greg added, eager to tell her _everything_. “Then he did some work writing books, trying to help stop slavery and start a school for Africans in England. Then he joined wizarding society later, around 1791, when he got married to Wilson.”

“They had three children,” murmured Hermione, peering at Cugoano’s family. “A daughter in purple – presumably a witch – who didn’t marry or have children. Two sons in black ink. And his father is in purple, too.”

“That line died out,” Greg rumbled. “The two Squib sons went back into the Muggle world, under the name ‘Stuart’. The eldest was one of your maternal ancestors.”

“Any wizarding relatives on my father’s side, in the Granger family?”

Pansy let out a frustrated huff. “None we could prove and believe me, we tried.”

“We suspect there is a connection to the House of Granger some generations back before they joined with the House of Dagworth, but we cannot prove it, and they refused to acknowledge you,” Greg said to Hermione, sounding disappointed. “We suspect a disowned Squib removed from the family records or swapped for a changeling – about five generations back on Hermione’s father’s side there is a Granger ancestor with no Muggle records prior to his marriage. It was a dead end for our researcher. That might mean a Squib. However, it could also mean a lot of other things, even just bad document-keeping by the Muggles.”

“You cannot claim kinship with the Granger-Dagworth family, but the House of Cugoano was acknowledged by the Wizengamot in the late 1700’s, so you can assume the Head of House title if you wish when you are seventeen, given you are the Heir Apparent and there are no other claimants!” Pansy encouraged eagerly.

Hermione laughed. “Well now, there’s a turn-up for the books. Does this mean I’m a half-blood now? Do I get any privileges for having a family House? Heirlooms and gold?”

“Well… no,” Greg said reluctantly. “You are still a Muggle-born. You need at least one parent or grandparent who is magically talented to be a half-blood of any degree. All your magical ancestors are much too far back. There is no seat on the Wizengamot, and your family vault was closed a century ago. However, you could commission a signet ring with your House crest if you wished, and it is still a nice thing to have an acknowledged magical family ancestry. A family is required to have at least three generations in a row of proven magical blood to be a ‘House’, and since your most famous ancestor had a shaman for a father and a witch for a daughter, that is technically sufficient and was enough for him to complete the relevant Ministry paperwork. It is not Ancient, or Noble, or Sacred, and there are no properties or heirlooms to claim, but it is still a House.”

“I don’t care about any of that, really, but it’s wonderful to have such exciting details of my family history. Cugoano sounds like an amazing man, and I’m really looking forward to reading his book! Thank you both again, it is a wonderful gift,” Hermione said, hugging each of them in turn. “You can’t imagine how much I’ve been dying to hear about your research!”

-000-

As September turned into October and the nights began growing longer and colder, Harry worked tirelessly at his studies, breezing through some of it, like antidotes in Potions, Summoning Charms in Charms class, and his assignments for Biology which while tough were completed relatively easily due to his sheer fascination with the subject and his background studying the topic last year. Others required dogged persistence, like Astronomy. Mastering Switching Spells in Transfiguration was a struggle, and Hermione outshone them all.

After a month and a half of looking after Fire Crabs, Professor Hagrid apologetically announced that they’d have to learn about Kneazles for a couple of weeks, but he promised “somethin’ a little bit more fun” for November and December, and that they’d “have another go” at Hippogriffs after Christmas. A few people glanced in Draco’s direction at their professor’s excited but nervous pronouncement, but Draco bore the news with a stoic expression.

Hagrid seemed genuinely bewildered by the class’ enthusiasm for cuddling and caring for the litter of adorable lion-tailed, big-eared kittens he brought in, and the students’ willingness to do “borin’ but necessary” training activities such as teaching them to fetch or touch objects on command and how to lead a blindfolded student from one place to another.

One gangly kitten took great offence to Vincent Crabbe’s attempt to pluck out a few of its whiskers. (Harry suspected this had been attempted on Draco’s order, but Draco wouldn’t admit to it.) Vincent ended up with a multitude of tiny bloody scratches all over his face and hands despite his willingness to try hitting at and hexing a tiny angry ball of fluff, and the rest of the class gained a newfound respect for the kittens’ ability to turn into a virtual whirlwind of claws and teeth when they suspected some unkind plan was in the works.

Sirius owled Harry a letter as the first Hogsmeade weekend in mid-October drew close, rambling enthusiastically about the detached Victorian villa he’d rented in Grantown-on-Spey that he’d dubbed the ‘Grantown Den’. It was a two-storey stone and brick home on the edge of town on Woodside Avenue, not far from Anagach Woods, and had a private garden “that wouldn’t hurt a fly”. Sirius and Remus were apparently commuting back and forth from London via Apparition, since the ‘tiny’ wood-burning fireplaces were much too small to travel through. They’d moved in some furniture and generally gotten the place liveable. The two of them had set up a room on the ground floor for Harry’s chemistry and biology experiments with “a Bunsen burner and a microscope and all kinds of scientific Muggle stuff”. One of the four bedrooms upstairs had been set aside for Harry “just in case you need it”, and another one had been optimistically and courteously allocated for “any house-elves you can coax to visit”. Apparently Kreacher was being recalcitrant about tending a “Muggle abomination of a house” and refused to leave Grimmauld Place, even despite the temptation of Harry’s promised visit.

Sirius included in his missive an intriguing list of no less than seven secret passageways from Hogwarts to Hogsmeade and promised to be available on request to meet Harry in the Shrieking Shack on any day that wasn’t too close to the full moon. From there, Sirius would Side-Along-Apparate Harry to the Grantown Den, where Harry could study his Muggle chemistry to his heart’s content.

Harry thought that the secret tunnels might come in handy. At least they would if he could get someone to cover for his disappearance from school. They only got seven Hogsmeade weekends a year; one every month except for September (while they were all settling back into their studies), April (which had the Easter holidays), and June (a busy time for exams, followed by summer break starting sometime during that month). Seven weekends were something, and a lot more freedom than the junior years got, but it still wasn’t a lot. Harry liked having the _option_ to sneak away if necessary, with adult approval to boot.

Harry’s meet-up with Sirius outside the Shrieking Shack went smoothly and easily. Neville knew exactly what Harry was up to, since Harry had already accidentally let slip to him about Sirius’ secret Muggle house plan back on his birthday. Hermione was told only that he’d be “studying” after a short visit to Hogsmeade. She and all of Harry’s friends were long used to his habit of occasionally going off on his own for some study in solitude, so his plans passed without remark.

For a Muggle house, Harry thought Sirius’ holiday home looked rather wizard-like in its architecture, being a picturesque construction of old grey stone. They arrived with a lurch in the back garden, which had high fences surrounding a tidy green lawn with an old wooden swing in a simple frame, and a scattering of flowering bushes and leafy trees. A small paved patio area had flowerbeds and bushes enclosing it on three sides, and was set up with a small wooden table and chairs where Lupin was seated. It took Harry a moment to recognise him, as Lupin had bleached or charmed his hair blonde and grown a short, matching trimmed beard. Lupin was enjoying finishing up a late breakfast in the sunlight while reading the paper, obviously the _Daily Prophet_ given how some of the black-and-white photos were moving.

Lupin looked up and smiled as Sirius arrived with Harry in tow. As Harry leant over and breathed deep and recovered from the trip, Lupin folded up his paper, snagged the last piece of crispy bacon off his plate, and wandered over to join them, limping slightly on his left leg.

“Welcome to the Grantown Den!” Sirius said excitedly. “The House of Black is at the service of the House of Potter. The Den is full of all the Muggle conveniences. Except one of those new-fangled ‘micra-waves’ – we had one but it broke. Badly. Apparently, those things don’t like iron any more than wizards do; I tried heating up a can of Muggle food in it and boy was it a mess! I don’t suppose you know if they’re in any way magical, Harry?”

Harry shook his head. “I’m pretty sure they’re not. You can’t use _any_ metal in them, by the way, not just iron. I know aluminium foil is a problem too, for example. It’s something to do with how microwaves interact with the metal, but to be honest I don’t know the details. If you ever do get another one, remember just to stick to ceramic dishes and cups only. No gold-rimmed dishes either – even noble metals are a risk.”

Reaching into his bag, Harry fished out Storm, who hissed a sleepy inquiry, and was reminded that he’d begged last night to come along.

“ _I remember_ ,” Storm hissed groggily. “ _Put me in the sssun_.”

Harry put him down gently on the sun-warmed stone pavers, and Storm slithered into a warm patch of dappled sunlight near a bush and coiled up sleepily. Sitting on Harry was acceptable, but not when better sources of heat were available.

“He’s tired, but he wanted to come along in case there was something fun to hunt in the garden,” Harry explained.

“He won’t hunt the neighbour’s cat, will he?” Lupin checked. “He’s gotten quite big. What is he, five foot now?”

“Around that – he’s growing fast, and he seems a little more temperamental lately. But no, they’d be too big for him. His jaw doesn’t dislocate, so he plays it safe when hunting. He could maybe manage a kitten,” Harry said thoughtfully, looking fondly at his pet. “He’s still officially a juvenile snakeling. He’ll get a mane of elongated dorsal scales just behind his head when he’s an adult. It hasn’t happened yet.”

“What are you going to do when he’s fully grown?” Sirius asked. “Was Lovegood’s article right? Is he really going to be twenty-foot long or even crazily more, big enough to carve out rivers? Lovegood wrote that he’ll just keep on growing. How is that going to work with your plans to go to Muggle university? I suppose you could cast a Colour Change Charm to disguise the rainbow scales, but the size – that would be more of a problem. You could transfigure him smaller, perhaps? I don’t know a spell for that, though, or how it would affect a magical creature. All the ones I learnt in school were for changing Muggle animals.”

“It’s not a viable option,” Lupin said, shaking his head. “That’s why Crups have their tails docked rather than transfigured. The spell duration when enchanting or transfiguring magical creatures is too unpredictable. Some creatures – like giants, phoenixes, and dragons… and werewolves – are highly spell resistant and very hard to change at all.”

“I… don’t know what I’m going to do,” Harry admitted, flattening his hair down with his hands in distracted worry. “I guess I’ll have to find a snake-sitter – he gets on well with Millicent, she might help out. Or I could visit Storm on weekends… maybe build something on the grounds of Potter Manor. I might just set up a wizarding tent and commute every day – they all seemed pretty awesome and just as good as a house. Storm’s nocturnal so he sleeps most of the day away anyway. The grounds there are enormous enough that Storm could slither around happily when he’s bigger and hunt… rabbits or deer or something. He’s looking forward to eating kangaroos but of course we don’t have them here.”

“I thought you would send him back to live on a reserve in Australia when he was grown?” Sirius asked.

“I’d rather not,” Harry said slowly. “I would miss him. But… if he _wanted_ to go I’d make it happen for him. As a holiday or permanently if he wanted. Maybe he’d like to find a lady snake and have a clutch of eggs, one day. He’s happy living with me for now, though. He loves his new big tank thanks, Sirius.”

“Glad to hear it! Well, your snake growing up is a problem for another day, so let’s get started with the tour!” Sirius said, and led Harry into the house. “Remember, as you’re underage you can’t use your wand here, it’ll set off an alarm with the Ministry we’d all rather not have to explain. Just ask if you need any help.”

The kitchen was full of modern appliances, with a fridge and modern stove. The cupboards were full of wizarding-style copper saucepans, however. The tiny wood-burning fireplace in the living room might be big by Muggle standards, but Sirius complained about it grumpily.

“It is much too small to hook up to the Floo, even if I wanted to, and you can’t even fit a proper cauldron in there,” he apologised. “There was a small sixteenth century castle nearby just out of town that I wanted to rent instead, but Moony said ‘no’. He thinks I need to budget more, and said it was ‘an unnecessary extravagance’. It was much nicer though, with six bedrooms, and turrets and everything. Very private. Not so convenient to town, of course. Here you can nip across the road to the pub for a pie and chips for lunch, which I must admit is nice. Neither of us are great at cooking. Moony goes in his disguise – he’s got a pair of glasses he adds when we go out. I tie my hair back and charm it to light brown – I was on the Muggle news a bit too much last year, and I don’t want to be recognised either. Not that I would get in too much trouble – the Ministry would sort it out if the police were called, but I would rather not be spotted here in the first place. Being here’s supposed to be a secret and I don’t want You-Know-Who or his followers to get wind of it.”

Mindful of the implicit hint about cooking, Harry tried calling for Dobby, who popped in only half a minute later, and eagerly agreed to make them all some lunch later. He looked a bit intimidated by the Muggle appliances, however, and started tugging at his ears anxiously and looked ready to bash his head on the cupboards before Harry grabbed at him and reminded him not to and what their rules were about asking for help when needed. Lupin volunteered to take him aside, and Harry left him gently explaining to the fretful house-elf how everything worked.

The lab room was everything Harry had hoped for and more. For chemistry he had a workstation bench set up with a Bunsen burner and a tripod, and against the wall were shelves full of glass beakers, flasks, and jars of chemicals. For his biology studies there was a good quality microscope, a set of scalpels, and a collection of slides. Copies of his correspondence course textbooks and some blank workbooks lined the bottom shelf, and a white lab coat was folded up on the shelf next to them, with some plastic protective goggles sitting on top of it. A plain oak desk was set up next to a sunny window with a view of the street outside, with a poster showing the periodic table was affixed to the wall next to it. Harry set his bag down on top of the desk and peeked in the drawers, which proved to be full of stationery – pens, highlighters, and a top of the range calculator.

“Is it alright?” Sirius asked, hovering anxiously. “I double-checked everything this morning, so there shouldn’t be any nasty surprises. I checked the bedroom upstairs too, twice – even though you probably won’t need it – it’s all fine as well, if a bit Spartan.”

“It’s _perfect_ ,” Harry reassured, and Sirius _beamed_.

Harry returned to Hogwarts hours later in the afternoon with biology worksheets full of labelled diagrams of cellular structures, and his first chemistry assignment done with his best notes about what had happened when he’d mixed up a solution with the formula written neatly underneath. Storm was draped around Harry’s neck, and had been sternly ordered not to bite Sirius even if he got a bit squashed as they were covertly Side-Along-Apparated back to Hogsmeade. Harry bore the trip as stoically as he could. He liked to think he was getting better at it, but maybe it was more that short trips were less taxing.

“ _I ate a butterfly and two crawling things_ ,” Storm said conversationally, “ _but I like fairies better_. _I’m ssstill hungry._ ”

“ _You’re always hungry these days,_ ” Harry said fondly.

Harry paused to thank and wave goodbye to Sirius, before continuing. “ _Which reminds me, Professor Hagrid was very impressed by Flint’ss presentation showing you off last year. He would like to borrow you for a ssseries of lessons with the sssixth-years next month. He promised he’d sssupply a range of creatures for you to eat, and the classs will sssupervise you hunting in the lake so nothing hurtss you_. _I lent him my booklet ‘For Carers of Rainbow Ssserpentss’ and my book on magical ssserpentss so he can read up on Wonambi and other sssnakess._ ”

“ _That sssounds nice. Afternoons only, though. I want to sssleep in the mornings_.”

-000-

As Samhain approached, Pansy had an axe to grind with Harry, who she blamed for something that he insisted wasn’t his fault at all. They met outside on the grounds, where they could be assured of privacy by dint of being able to spot anyone approaching.

“There’s all these _Muggle-borns_ joining our celebrations,” she complained. “Creevey’s been leaking like an old cauldron ever since you invited him to join us, and ‘secretively’ gossiping with people about a ‘secret society of pagan druids’. Someone had to get him to sign a contract just to get him to stop blabbing to everyone and anyone.”

“Nothing harmful, I hope?”

“Nothing too bad, he’ll be fine if he stays discreet,” Pansy said, waving a dismissive hand. “Of course his little brother is keen to join too, which Runcorn is not happy about. She let him in too even though he’s a Muggle-born, since others were pushing for it and his brother _has_ proved some familial piety. It just keeps getting worse, though! Do you know Malcolm Baddock from Slytherin? First-year leader, pure-blood boy with big ears and short brown hair? He’s gone out of his way to _invite_ Muggle-borns to join us! There’s a Hufflepuff Muggle-born, Branstone, who’s even worse than Creevey about staying quiet, and he’s invited her to join in the celebrations! And then he said she could invite some random half-blood Ravenclaw boy whom Branstone says ‘might be interested’! You can’t go inviting people from just _any_ family.”

“Oh yes, Eleanor Branstone. A Wiccan, I believe. I kind of met her in detention. She recently asked me about Samhain, too – someone told her I was the person to talk to about that, since you Slytherins keep things in-House for Samhain. She seems very devout for what it’s worth. Don’t you _want_ more people to join in? You wanted _me_ to.”

“Well yes,” Pansy said, floundering a little, “but that is… you are from the _Potter_ family.”

“With a Muggle-born mother and a Light-aligned father,” Harry said pointedly. “There’s nothing wrong with recruiting Muggle-borns. I think it’s a good idea.”

“You are _my_ cousin, though,” Pansy said, “and besides, we did not just go telling you everything the day we met you. I am not saying we shouldn’t let Muggle-borns join in, it is just that these things should be done _carefully_ over time! Secrecy is vital! Doubly so this year, with the Headmaster _coincidentally_ filling up Samhain _and_ the day before it with feasts that _everyone_ has to attend.”

“Yes, it’s tough,” Harry sighed, “with the Welcoming Feast on Sunday and then the Halloween Feast the evening after which will _surely_ run late with Tournament business. Plus, the Ravenclaws have Astronomy lessons after that late in the evening, anyway, so they can’t make it. And there’s Filch and the teachers skulking about everywhere cleaning things and checking on everyone. Thanks for helping to pass the word that non-Slytherins should just celebrate privately in their own rooms, this year. The club room was already booked out by Dumbledore and Professor Slughorn for a ‘Welcome to Hogwarts’ orientation for the foreign students early on Monday morning on Halloween, too, which I guess is fair enough. There are just no timeslots left though, which is a shame.”

“We are keeping things quiet in the Snake’s Den as usual for the Slytherin Traditionalists, but even then it is going to have to be a _really short_ celebration this year,” Pansy complained. “We are used to having to work around the Headmaster’s machinations, but it is the Muggle-borns who are causing the most grief this year, I think. Branstone flatly refused to sign anything! She says faith should not be hidden.”

“Tell Branstone, ‘Never again the burning times’,” advised Harry.

“What does that mean? Is it a book? A quote?”

“It’s a phrase used by Muggle witches. It’s a reminder to avoid witch burnings at all costs, that that sort of persecution should never be allowed to happen again. You might also want to let her know that witches and wizards live longer than Muggles, and that for some it’s only a few short generations ago that people died. Neville says his Gran and his great-uncle have some scary stories from their own grandparents’ time. Let her know people are still nervous, and just ask her to be discreet for others’ sake. An appeal to emotion and friendship should work well on a Hufflepuff.”

Pansy sighed. “ _Muggle witches_. I had never even heard of such a thing until recently. Perhaps it’s a Squib thing. It is all still a big mess, and this increased openness is so _risky_. Baddock is not being discreet enough, and Prewett in his year is a devout Christian who complained about how Hogwarts should have a chapel, and they are fighting _constantly_ about religion. The prefects had to step in to make sure they keep it restricted to the dorms. Prewett complained to Slughorn, but thankfully he is on our side. He talked to both of them and it helped calm things a little, but there are still lines literally being drawn in the first-years’ dorms. They have divided up their rooms.”

“Surely she’s not the first Christian in Slytherin? There’s pure-blood Christians out there, I know that.”

“Well, no, she is not the first. There are a handful of them, though thankfully not many in our year. Sophie Roper is – snooty cow. She mostly keeps to herself, and that is fine by us. Zabini is a ‘Cafflick’,” Pansy replied, mangling the pronunciation of the unfamiliar word, “but he isn’t so _annoying_ about it. He joins in the Samhain celebration in our dorm because he says he would never hear the end of it from the family ghosts if he didn’t, and he is polite about the other traditions he doesn’t follow.”

“Should you even be telling me all this? Doesn’t it breach your ‘no public infighting’ rule?”

“Well… _technically_ it does. However, you are the Heir of Slytherin. You are regarded as an honorary Slytherin by just about everyone,” she said cautiously.

Harry nodded. “I figured it was something like that.”

Pansy tilted her head. “Have you stopped denying it at last?”

Harry sighed. “In private conversations, yes, I’ll admit I’m the Heir of Slytherin. In public… not so much. I won’t deny it, but I won’t announce it either; I still don’t like the attention. Apart from Parseltongue granting access to the Chamber of Secrets, I don’t see why it’s such a big deal. Other people have special magical talents too, or are descended from Founders, like Macmillan.”

“Well, I suppose the Dark Lord made it a prominent and important thing,” Pansy said cautiously, as if wary of his reaction. “The Gaunt family were the last family who had known Parselmouths, but they were not particularly… esteemed for their talent. You know… this probably means you are related to him, or them.”

“Well, I know you researched my family already and couldn’t find anything connecting me to the Gaunts. And I didn’t see any Riddles in my family tree, either. If there’s a link it has to be pretty far back.”

“What riddles? What do you mean, like other possible Squibs? Or people who changed their names?”

“No, not like a puzzle. Riddle as a surname. You know, Tom Riddle. The Dark Lord.”

“That cannot be his name. He is a _pure-blood_ ,” Pansy said, sounding appalled.

“No, he’s a half-blood. Riddle’s not a name in the Sacred Twenty-Eight. I haven’t heard it anywhere else, either. No, the Dark Lord’s name is Tom Marvolo Riddle, and he grew up in an orphanage in London, in World War Two.”

“What? When?” Pansy said, looking flummoxed. “How do you know all this? I thought Tom Riddle – Tim Rydel – was just a spirit trapped in the diary? Something like a portrait? Why do you think he’s the Dark Lord?! That doesn’t even make sense!”

“He grew up during the war with Grindelwald,” Harry explained, with a resigned sigh. Binns needed to be sacked. “I’ve talked with a painting or two, a couple of ghosts, a couple of teachers, that sort of thing. McGonagall and Snape both know who he is, and Dumbledore too. Maybe the Minister. Lord Voldemort is his Name of Power. He didn’t like his birth name.”

Pansy went quiet for a moment, picking fretfully at bits of grass on the lawn they were sitting on. “Am I allowed to tell people about this?”

Harry hesitated. “Technically you could, but it would be unwise. The Dark Lord works hard to keep the details of his background a secret; he wants people to think he’s a pure-blood. They’re saying in the paper that Lockhart is unlikely to ever fully recover his wits, and a lot of the scarring is permanent. He’s lucky to be alive. He’s gone home to his family, as they can’t do anything more for him at St. Mungo’s.”

“Why did you tell _me_ about it, then?” Pansy cried.

“Well, you’re my cousin and my friend, and you asked. I’m trying to keep less secrets from people, and I believe I can trust you with this information.”

“Please do not tell _him_ you told me about it,” she begged. “I am not going to tell _anyone_ , I promise. This is dangerous, Harry!”

Harry’s eyes widened. “I’m not in contact with the Dark Lord!” he lied.

Harry’s last letter had been sent only last week, requesting safety for Luna. He’d agonised over it – especially since Neville was his best friend – but Luna’s tears one lunch time had changed his mind at the last minute. He’d found her hiding amidst the library stacks, curled up into a ball and sobbing silently, clutching a crumpled letter from her father which begged his daughter to stay safe and out of trouble. Hopefully Neville’s safety could wait until the end of November, for his third pick after Hermione and Luna.

He’d buried his anxieties to write a courteous letter, chatting as requested about how his schoolwork was going. He wasn’t really sure that Lord Voldemort would be fascinated by his ramblings about how Switching Spells were less useless than most of the spells he’d learnt in Transfiguration thus far, Harry’s boredom in Charms class doing spells he’d already mastered, and how much he was enjoying brewing antidotes in Potions (even though he knew many of them already), but it was what the wizard had asked for. The Dark Lord had complained that Harry’s previous letter had been too short, verging on discourteous. So, this one was at least longer, if not particularly fascinating. He’d also succumbed to Storm’s nagging and added a postscript on Storm’s behalf asking for a tiny magical creature for his snake to snack on.

“You know he is alive then!” Pansy hissed.

“Yes. Though ‘alive’ might be pushing the definition. You know too, clearly. How open a secret is it?”

“I am not sure. Perhaps a third of Slytherin believe it. We do not discuss it openly.”

“Are they loyal to him, or scared of him?” Harry whispered.

“Would you tell me which you are?” she asked just as quietly, after glancing around to ensure they couldn’t be overheard.

“Scared, of course,” Harry admitted. “Trying to stay out of it all, and unsure if I’ll be able to.”

“Me too,” whispered Pansy. “I think our world is mostly fine as it is. I do not want a war.” She reached out and held his hand, squeezing it gently.

They sat together in silence for a while, just holding hands and watching the autumnal trees as a cool breeze swirled gold and russet leaves everywhere and admiring the ripples on the lake. Enjoying the moment of companionable peace while they could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ottobah Cugoano – He was an abolitionist of the 18th century, born in what is now Ajumako in Ghana. He was an educated and active abolitionist who pretty much disappeared from the historical record after the publication of his books – it is believed he married an Englishwoman, but little is known of him after that. I decided for my fic that he entered the realm of wizarding Britain at that point and settled down to learn magic and raise a family.  
> Emily_Elizabeth_Rose – Thanks for birthday gift suggestion from the girls. They weren’t game to pressure Hermione into wearing robes and opted for accessories as a safer bet. :)  
> AnnaDruvez & Sylvaine – Wiccan student for you.  
> battybiologist – Prewett’s bible study group for you.  
> bloodfree – Snack request by Storm for you. He nagged and nagged until Harry caved.  
> Stargirl1061 – I’ve had a plan for a long while to have a tunnel out to the lake! Here it is. :)  
> Zight – I don’t recall what your comment was, but I made a note that you wanted stuff with Daphne! I hope her developing friendship with Susan Bones is of interest to you.


	5. Beauxbatons and Durmstrang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Quidditch situation is resolved, and students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang arrive at Hogwarts.

**_October 1994_ **

Halloween was getting closer and so was the Triwizard Tournament, which was all some students could talk about, even in the middle of Friday morning’s History of Magic class when everyone should theoretically be paying attention to Professor Binns.

Ron was leaning across the aisle to chat with Neville, while Harry studiously tried to ignore them while he worked on some of his correspondence studies, and also wrote a letter to Dudley patiently giving his best biology tips to his bewildered cousin on how to memorise the names for the different parts of cells, like how the ‘mighty mitochondria’ was the ‘powerhouse of the cell’, and how the ‘vacuoles’ stored waste like a vacuum cleaner and looked like holes. Dudley would remember ‘vacuum hole’ a lot more easily than trying to learn ‘vacuole’ all on its own – he had trouble remembering new vocabulary and always did better with mnemonics that let him build associations.

“The foreign students are coming tomorrow, and then it’s Halloween the day after. It’s going to be non-stop feasts and fun all weekend!” Ron gossiped loudly, eyes bright with anticipation. “Are you going to enter, Neville? I’m going to try – imagine, a thousand Galleons! The twins and Lee Jordan are going to as well, but I might as well try too, right? Honestly, I put a Knut on Johnson to win – better her than a snake or Diggory, but it sure would be nice to score the prize for the family!”

“Mr. Weasley!” snapped Binns, making Ron jerk to attention guiltily and Neville sit up ramrod straight with an apologetic look on his face. “Five points from Gryffindor! Kindly direct your attention to the blackboard and the giant rampage in Wales, and away from chitter chatter with your friend who is _trying_ to work!”

Ron settled down, abashed and quiet, but he wasn’t the only student to lose points that class, for their professor’s oddly sharp-eyed gaze moved on next to Harry.

“Mr. Black. _Mr. Black_ ,” Binns repeated sharply, when Harry took a second to look up from his book before responding.

“Yes, sir?”

“Are you _reading_ in my class, Black? Five points from Slytherin! Put it away, Black.”

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir!” Harry apologised, assuming a convincing look of repentance as he put his Muggle textbook away. Finnegan snickered in the background. He still found it hilarious every single time Harry got points taken off Slytherin. Finnegan had tried to convince Binns that he was in Slytherin too, but it didn’t seem to stick as well and Binns usually seemed certain that the Irish student ‘O’Flaherty’ was in Gryffindor.

“Mr. Black, kindly inform the class of the cause of the giant rampage in Wales in the eighteenth century.”

Next to him, Neville started frantically scratching out a helpful note with his quill, but Harry _knew_ this. There was a bit about it in their stultifying dull textbook, and much more interesting information in the book on giants that Anthony had given him for his birthday.

“Encroaching Muggle farmlands led to giants preying on sheep, as the anti-Muggle and anti-giant wards on the border decayed too quickly after blood wards were banned. The wards eventually weakened enough that some of the ward trees were noticed and subsequently cut down by Muggle farmers, not knowing of their importance. The Ministry was more reactive and less proactive back then, so it was up to the wizarding sanctuary’s landholders to preserve the Statute and maintain the wards, and they didn’t want to spare the expense for Masters in Ancient Runes to look after their wards often enough.”

Binns blinked puzzledly at him. “An interesting guess but incorrect, Mr. Black. The cause of the giants’ rampage was the death of their chief or ‘Gurg’, Crygyn the Mighty. Their chief was killed by the terrified Muggle Cariadoc Jones in retaliation for the slaughter of their farm’s flock of sheep.”

“Well that was a _trigger_ event, but it wasn’t the primary cause,” argued Harry. “The underlying cause was actually the decay of the sanctuary’s wards, and a lack of prey animals within the sanctuary boundaries. That’s what Scamander argues in his book _The Giants of Britain_ , and it sounded pretty convincing to me.”

“I have never heard of this so-called historian or his work,” sniffed Binns.

“Well he wrote it after you died; it’s quite a recent publication – only ten years old. He mostly writes about magical creatures. Scamander says it was a horrific slaughter of an endangered species, and not much of a ‘massacre’ when only two wizards and four Muggles died, compared to the genocide of an entire tribe of over sixty giants whose only real crime was hunger.”

Harry lost another ten points from Slytherin (eliciting another muffled snort of laughter from Finnegan and Ron) for his too-casual dismissal of the deaths of people in favour of giants. Harry spent the last ten minutes of class obediently reading their class textbook and making actual notes on Binns’ lecture, with a resigned sigh.

“Did it seem to you like Professor Binns was paying a lot more attention in class today?” Harry mused out loud to Neville and Hermione as they headed to Defence Against the Dark Arts.

“He seemed quite alert, didn’t he?” said Hermione. “I can’t pretend I’m shocked you weren’t paying attention in class, as I’m _actually_ more shocked you knew the material well enough to argue with him about it. Can I borrow your book on giants? I haven’t seen it in the library, and I’m almost finished with the Ancient Runes book. The information about Ogma _was_ fascinating, thanks for passing it on!”

“Sure, I’ll dig it out for you. The runes book is from Professor Babbling’s private collection, so it needs to go back to her as soon as you’re done. Interesting symbology with Ogmius – Ogma – wasn’t it? With the chains enslaving people who were made to be happy about their servitude?” Harry asked, in a leading fashion.

“Very much so! I feel like it might provide an interesting lead to thinking about house-elves. I’m going to look into it some more, including a Latin source text if I can find a copy. Will you help me with some translations if I can’t find it in English, Harry?”

“Of course! I’d be happy to do my part.”

“Thanks! I think it could really help with our research, learning about ancient enslavement spells!” she chattered brightly.

Neville gave Harry a nudge and an enquiring look, and Harry answered his unspoken question with a swift nod.

“Say, what were you actually working on in class today instead of history?” Hermione asked curiously, oblivious to their subtle byplay.

“A TMA for Biology. I have assignments piling up again, and History is a great quiet study time,” Harry said, without a trace of shame.

“You should be more careful until after Halloween,” Neville advised. “After that Binns’ power will wane and he should go back to normal.”

Neville’s two best friends turned and stared at him. A little first-year Ravenclaw ran into Harry’s back when he stopped suddenly and peeped an anxious apology before scurrying off.

“Um. Ghosts are stronger at Halloween?” Neville said, his lack of confidence turning it into a question rather than a statement as his friends stared at him. “When there is more of a connection to… you know… Heaven, or the Summerlands, or stuff. So, his mind is more focused?”

Hermione sighed. “There’s so many things no-one writes down. I’ll add it to my list – I don’t know as much about ghosts as I’d like. I still can’t believe Mr. Sayre insisted my and Greg’s book needed cuts when there’s so many more things that need to go in it! Well, it can go in the sequel.”

“Huh,” Harry said thoughtfully. “Well, that makes sense.”

“It does, doesn’t it,” Hermione agreed, a faraway look in her eyes. “So Binns and the other ghosts will be more focused… mentally stronger around Halloween? That’s on Sunday. Will the effect last until Tuesday? We won’t see him again until then, and there’s actually some questions I’ve been wanting to ask him for ages – this might be a good time for it.”

“Yes, it should be fine to wait until then. It is strongest on Halloween itself, but umm… I believe he should still be pretty focused on Tuesday too.”

“It’s the new moon around Tuesday too,” Harry chimed in, “and the dark of the moon is particularly suited for any magic involving ghosts or the dead, and the full moon can actually be quite good too. Not the middle phases, though.” _Someone_ had been very persistent in his letters in instructing Harry about the more arcane applications of Astronomy.

Neville gave Harry an odd look, which made Harry shrug uncomfortably, but Hermione just looked intrigued.

“Fascinating! I will have to talk to Greg about it all. Anything else about wizarding culture that I’ve missed lately and I really should have known about?” Hermione asked Neville and Harry, lead pencil poised to jot down a note as they resumed walking. She used a quill in class but had snuck some Muggle pencils into Hogwarts for emergency notetaking.

Neville shook his head. “No. Um. Yes, actually, now you mention it. The thing with his name that Harry does in class? He really shouldn’t do that so often,” Neville suggested quietly.

“Do what? Get points off Slytherin? Come on, it’s awesome,” Harry wheedled. “Personally, I think it just makes up for years of Professor Snape taking points off Gryffindors for breathing loudly.”

“Thank you, Neville,” Hermione said with a smile. “Impersonating a Slytherin – it’s against the school rules you know, Harry.”

“Well yes, it is… but no, not that is not the real problem,” Neville said, hefting his heavy shoulder bag back up as it started to slip down as they dodged around other students in the crowded corridor. “I mean he should not take on a false name. If you do it too often, it can cause problems. Or be a real name.”

“What?” Harry said.

“Oh, you mean it could cause him Arithmantic problems,” Hermione said, perking up excitedly at that titbit of information, which she scribbled down in her notebook as they walked. “Do you know anything else about that?”

“No? Just that you can get extra names if enough people start using a name, and then it affects your magic or something. It doesn’t have to be bad, though.”

“Like how you can sometimes need a new wand if you formally change your name?” Hermione asked eagerly. “Don’t you have to formally renounce your old name as part of a ritual? I thought you had to marry or take a Name of Power like Professor Sprout did, before a name change affected your magic.”

Neville shrugged, and scrambled to catch his shoulder bag as it tried to slip down again. “Sorry, I don’t know anything more than what I already said. You know I’m not doing Arithmancy.”

“So, I could become Antares Black, from the point of view of post owls and spells?” Harry asked. “But only Professor Binns calls me that, and not very often.”

“No-one else ever?” Neville asked.

“No, well… maybe a couple of others but not often,” Harry said, thinking of how Professor Snape had caught him out, and how Flint had called him that too. Walburga’s portrait had increasingly insisted his surname was ‘Black’ by the end of his stay with Sirius. Did the opinion of a portrait count, magically?

He wondered quietly if being called the Heir of Slytherin was affecting his magic. “Hey Hermione, would you write me a summary of what happens with your magic with a new name or title, if you’re researching it? And how easy it is to accidentally magically add an extra name?”

“I’m not doing your research for you!” she said indignantly. “If you’re worried about being called Black or the Heir of Slytherin, look it up yourself!”

“Sorry, no, of course you don’t have to do my work for me. I just meant if you’re researching the topic _anyway_ I’d like to hear what you learn,” Harry explained. “However, if you prefer, I can dash off to the library and nab all the books on Arithmancy and names myself before you can get to them…”

“Don’t you dare!” Hermione cried in outrage, brown eyes wide in warning.

Neville chuckled quietly as Harry grinned teasingly, and Hermione reached out to slap playfully at Harry’s arm. Harry dodged away with a laugh.

“Come and see the violence inherent in the system! Help, help! I’m being repressed!” he called out, which made Hermione laugh and call him a “bloody peasant”.

Neville was bewildered and frowned disapprovingly at her, until they’d explained the Muggle Monty Python reference.

-000-

At dinner on Saturday evening, the Headmaster rose to make some announcements.

“For those of you who haven’t seen the notice in the Entrance Hall, let me remind you that tomorrow evening the delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving at Hogwarts. All students must assemble in front of the castle at six o’clock to greet our guests prior to the Welcoming Feast, attired tidily in school robes, cloak, and hat,” Dumbledore said.

“I also have some additional exciting news. Thanks to overwhelming and admirable inter-House support and the diligent fundraising efforts of a number of students, I am pleased to announce that this year’s Hogwarts Quidditch season has been reinstated!”

As Dumbledore spoke, excited anticipatory whispers grew into a tremendous outpouring of cheering and clapping. Hufflepuffs were laughing and hugging each other, while the Ravenclaws were applauding excitedly. At the Gryffindor table, Fred and George Weasley had gotten up and were dragging the other members of the Quidditch team and their friend Lee Jordan into a victory dance while gleefully chanting, “We did it!” over and over again. Harry got dragged into it too, as Ron pulled him up and into the mess of happy people. Glancing over at the Slytherin table Harry saw a few Quidditch team members like Draco and Peregrine smugly holding court as badge-wearing members of their House congratulated them. Millicent was clearly overcome by emotion and was ignoring the hovering people trying to congratulate her too as she sobbed her happy tears into Pansy’s shoulder and was gently patted on the back by her friend.

“Of course, the season will of necessity be compressed into a shorter time-frame than usual to allow for the demands of the Triwizard Tournament, but Madam Hooch and some diligent students have come up with a plan that will suit all parties,” the Headmaster added, after the cheers had died down.

“Parties? SQUID VICTORY PARTY IN THE CLUB ROOM TONIGHT!” one of the Weasleys yelled excitedly at top volume, to a roar of Gryffindor approval, and some interested cheering from other House tables too.

-000-

The Gobstones Club had been perfectly willing to sacrifice their booked time in favour of letting the SQuid club hold a massive inter-House party on Saturday evening, and Harry wasn’t the only student who went to breakfast on Sunday morning looking tired and haggard – many were still recovering from the previous night’s celebrations. Some of the older students had even smuggled in some Butterbeer and Firewhisky to share covertly, though Harry had abstained from that when it was slyly offered around.

Despite Harry’s abstention the night before, he was nonetheless significantly grumpier on Sunday morning than the average student, even those with hangovers. He snarled at Neville when his friend offered to pass him some eggs. He snapped angrily at Hermione when she started interrogating him about whether he’d _really_ stuck just to pumpkin juice the night before.

His friends eventually exchanged meaningful looks – which made him scowl even more – and left him alone to eat in sullen silence.

Ron, however, didn’t at first notice Harry’s black mood when he eventually stumbled down late to breakfast, robe crumpled like he’d just scooped it off the floor from where he’d dumped it last night, and his red hair still messily unbrushed. Ron sat down next to Hermione, and started loading up his plate with bacon, toast, and kippers. Percy’s owl Hermes swooped down with a letter for Ron, which he opened right away. His face lit up with happiness as he read his letter while chewing on some toast.

“Hey, Harry!” he said excitedly, a few crumbs escaping his mouth as he spoke.

 _Disgusting_ , Harry thought, with a mental sneer.

“What?” Harry said curtly.

“Percy said he’s definitely still got his job! He even gets to be the Acting Head of his Department, at least until they’ve picked someone new to replace Crouch! He is coming to the Welcoming Feast tonight, and everything!”

“Of _course_ he’s bloody keeping his job!” snapped Harry. Did Ron think Percy didn’t write to him? Percy was his _friend_.

Ron stared at him, eyes wide and goggling in what Harry found a very irritating way.

“What’s with you this morning? It’s great news! Percy’s been worrying about it.”

“Nothing. I just woke up on the wrong side of the bed, that’s all.”

“What?”

Harry huffed in irritation. “It’s just a Muggle expression, Ron. I woke up angry. You know, how sometimes you wake up in a bad mood, or a good mood, for no reason.”

“I know the expression, but mate…” Ron replied hesitantly, “you don’t need to bite my head off.”

“It’s no excuse for bad behaviour,” Hermione chimed in primly, “and you shouldn’t take your mood out on us. It’s just a saying, Harry. People don’t _really_ wake up in a foul temper for no reason. If it wasn’t ah… the party… did you sleep badly, perhaps? Or have a nightmare?”

Harry froze for a second. It wasn’t normal? No, of course it was, or there wouldn’t be a saying for it. It was just maybe a bit worse than usual, today.

“I did have a bad dream,” Harry volunteered, after a moment’s thought.

“What was it about?” Neville asked curiously.

Harry tried to dredge up some hazy fragments from his memory. “I don’t remember all of it. I remember I was somewhere dark and damp, and someone had stolen something precious from me. It was mine, and they’d stolen it. I had a plan coming up and it was all ruined! They’d taken it and _it was ssspecial to me, and they had no right to destroy what belongss only to me! They even boasted about it! I was ssso angry with them!_ ”

Harry’s hands clenched in remembered anger as he retold his half-forgotten dream through gritted teeth. He remembered being incandescently _furious_ in his dream, he’d wanted to kill whomever had stolen from him. He wanted to make them _pay_ and for some reason he _couldn’t_. He didn’t remember why, or what they’d taken. Mostly he just remembered the feelings of helplessness and of overwhelming fury. He _still_ felt angry.

“Uh, Harry, did you know you were hissing in Parseltongue?” Neville asked. “We missed everything after ‘they’d taken it’.”

“Oh. Sorry, Neville,” Harry said, taking deep shuddering breaths, determinedly reigning in his anger so that he wouldn’t snap at his friend. “Just more of the same. They stole something and boasted about it, and I was angry with them. That’s all I remember. I know it doesn’t sound so bad, when I say it out loud. But in my dream, it was the worst thing in the world.”

“Have you been reading _The Hobbit_ lately?” Hermione asked thoughtfully.

Harry shook his head. “No.”

The Dursleys had never approved of Harry – or Dudley for that matter – reading any fantasy books. He’d vaguely heard of the book and knew there were proper elves in it not house-elves which were more like brownies, but that was all.

Ron gave Harry a sympathetic look. “It’s alright, no hard feelings, then. I know how bad dreams can mess you up. I had a dream last week that Percy drowned in a giant vat of honey and mum cried because she couldn’t pull him out. It was too silly to even use for Divination homework, but it still uh… it still made me cry when I first woke up.” He rubbed at the back of his freckled neck, looking flushed and embarrassed as he ducked his head.

“How’s your family doing?” Hermione asked, concerned. “How are you coping, Ron?”

“I am going alright,” Ron said, with a grateful smile at her. “Percy is doing great, like I said earlier. Bill has healed up alright – thanks again, Harry – and has gone off to work for Gringotts in Egypt, where laws against all kinds of shapeshifters are less strict, thank Merlin. He’s not going to be home in England much now, I guess. He says they’re sending him to somewhere in Africa, next. There’s lots of werehyenas in Africa, though not many werewolves. Still, it helps, apparently. People are used to them there, and some of the witches leading werehyena clans have gotten more rights for their people.

“Dad’s out of hospital, but he’s lost his job now it’s confirmed he’s a werewolf. That cow Umbridge has his old job, though there’s been a bit of a shake-up in the Ministry. Dad’s Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, the Hit Wizards, a committee or two, and the Muggle Liaison Office from the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes have all been combined into the one big new office within the DMLE. It’s the ‘Muggle Management Office’ now.”

“I don’t like the sound of that,” Hermione said, with a frown. “I don’t like it at _all_. What I’ve read in the _Daily Prophet_ about Umbridge isn’t at all promising, either. She’s very bigoted against werewolves and is clearly a blood purist.”

“Very worrying,” agreed Harry.

“Well, I have to get going,” Ron apologised, making a hasty folded sandwich of his last bits of toast and bacon. “New Gryffindor Keeper, you know! I have to get to practice.” His chest puffed up with pride.

“We know,” Hermione said, sounding amused. “Everyone was announced last night at the party. Congratulations again, Ron! See you at the Welcoming Feast, I guess.”

Ron waved a cheerful goodbye as he scampered off towards the Quidditch Pitch.

Harry was the next to leave. “I’d better get going too. I have meditation practice with Draco, then private study to do.” Down in the Chamber of Secrets, as he often did. Ambrosius didn’t admit it out loud, but Harry knew he loved being visited, even if Harry was just quietly sitting nearby doing his homework or correspondence studies.

Harry and Draco met up outside in the grounds, as planned. Filch was roaming around the castle snarling at students with muddy shoes or anyone who dared to touch one of the freshly polished suits of armour. It wasn’t very conducive to private meditation.

“You don’t have Quidditch practice today?” Harry asked Draco, as they went to find a secluded patch of lawn that wasn’t too damp to settle down on, or rather, one that could be easily made dry with a judicious spell or two. It was cold but clear – a nice change from the past couple of days of drizzling rain.

“Slytherin has the pitch after lunch. Gryffindors, then Ravenclaw, then us, and the ‘Puffs have the evening before the foreign students arrive,” Draco explained. “With only a few weeks until the first match, everyone is in a tizzy to get in as much practice as possible, and we are all on a tight schedule.”

“Ready to start Occlumency practice?” Harry asked, after they’d dried off some grass to sit on. The ground was steaming slightly from the charm, which probably wasn’t great for the lawn, but at least their robes would be dry.

“Yes. No. Harry, do you know why Granger is still giving me the cold shoulder?” Draco asked, as he sat down and carefully arranged his robes so they wouldn’t crinkle up. “I offered my apologies about leaving her out of the ball and the garden party, but she is still barely talking to me, and keeps making excuses to leave our table at the library whenever I am there.”

Harry sighed. “Are you sure you want to know?”

“ _Obviously_ , or I would not be asking in such a Gryffindor fashion. Pansy already told me she does not know why Granger is snubbing me either.”

“You could ask Hermione.”

“I _tried_. She won’t talk to me,” Draco said, sounding very frustrated. “She is not yet sending me to Coventry, but it is rather close to that.”

 _Damn it_ , Harry thought frustratedly. _I hate being caught in the middle of these things_.

“You could ask Millicent?”

“Come _on_ , Harry!”

“Alright, alright, I’ll tell you,” Harry said. “It’s not just being snubbed over summer, or you never using her first name. It’s worse than that. She thinks your father is a Death Eater. She knows about the Wolfsbane at your tent door at the Quidditch World Cup.”

Draco went very still, and his face was calm. “My father is not a Death Eater.”

“Where was he at the World Cup then?”

“Guarding mother and I inside our tent, of course.”

“Really?” Harry said, scepticism thick in his voice. “Are you sure he wasn’t off with Greg’s dad, wearing a mask and having ‘fun’ with some Muggles or some Aurors?”

“My father was busy protecting our family,” Draco said stiffly, staring at Harry.

Harry stared back at him. “ _That_ part I believe. I believe he wants to keep you and your mum safe. But what about you, Draco? Where do you stand?”

“Where do _you_?” Draco snapped back. “What is this, are you a Hufflepuff now? You _do not talk about such matters_ , Harry! Do you want to confide in me openly and honestly about _your_ attitude to the Dark Lord? You never have before!”

Draco barely waited for a moment’s hesitant and abashed silence from Harry, before nodding decisively and adding, “I did not _think_ so. So drop it – do not demand from me what you are yourself unwilling to offer. We are too young, anyway. It is not our fight yet, and we do not truly get to decide _anything_ for ourselves. Well, maybe you do a bit, but I do not, at least. So if we both stay out of it as much as we can, we remain friends and allies - amici. Right?”

There was a note of pleading and insecurity at the end of Draco’s speech, that Harry couldn’t help but respond to. He didn’t want to lose their friendship either and he honestly didn’t really want to talk about the Dark Lord either. What was there to say that would do any good? Nothing. “Right. Friends.”

“Good,” Draco said, sounding very relieved. “Well, let us begin our Occlumency, then. Father sent me a letter with a guided visualisation to try and use, to better build up mental defences against Legilimency or the Imperius Curse. A stone wall guarded by dragons.”

It wasn’t the subtlest redirection of a conversation that Draco had ever employed, but Harry was happy enough to cooperate.

“I don’t think I’m ready to try building active defences yet. I asked Snape about it in a letter, and he agreed I need to keep working on clearing my mind. So, I’m going to try a couple of the element-based exercises from Barnett’s _Guide to Advanced Occlumency_ ,” Harry said, happy to move to a less contentious topic. “I’ve usually been using a sky image as my mind-clearing image, but someone told me I’m more likely to have an earth or water affinity than air, so I thought I’d try something different today and see if I can find an easier visualisation to hold in my mind.”

The boys closed their eyes and slowed their breathing. Harry let his anxieties and residual anger all wash away on the imaginary lapping waves of an ocean shore.

-000-

As dusk fell that evening, the entirety of the Hogwarts students and staff assembled ready to greet the foreign delegations. There had been a lot of speculation about how they’d arrive, and some impatient lectures from Hermione about how _Hogwarts, A History_ explained that you _couldn’t_ Apparate on Hogwarts grounds, and only the Headmaster could make Portkeys work within the ward boundaries. Ron, of all people, had argued successfully with her, pointing out practically that his oldest brothers had both learnt how to Apparate in class lessons at Hogwarts, so there _had_ to be a way to do it.

The Beauxbatons students and their principal arrived first, as students tucked their cloaks around them in the chill air as dusk fell. The tiny first-years were standing at the front of the assembled Hogwarts students, and were the first to spot the giant object hurtling out of the sky towards them at breakneck speed.

“It’s a dragon!” shrieked one of the first-years.

“No it’s not!” Dennis Creevey squeaked excitedly. “It’s a flying house!”

“A flying house? I hope no-one here’s wearing red shoes,” Hermione said, with a grin at Harry.

Her grin slid away disappointedly as Harry looked just as mystified as Neville did. “You haven’t seen ‘The Wizard of Oz’?”

“McGonagall said we could wear some red to show House pride,” Neville said, uncertainly. “However, I don’t think anyone has red shoes on?”

“How about ruby slippers?” Dean Thomas asked, with a wink at Hermione, which made her laugh.

“It’s not a house, it’s a giant carriage!” someone called out.

“Look at the _size_ of those pegasi! What are they, Granians?”

“Of course not, look at the golden colouring! They have to be Abraxans!”

There were a dozen palomino pegasi with fiery, red eyes drawing the Beauxbatons carriage, all were the size of elephants with hooves larger than dinner plates. They landed right in front of the assembly at breakneck speed with an almighty crash, but the carriage seemed either robust or enchanted enough to endure the treatment and bounced to a stop without any damage.

A boy in a pale blue robe hopped out of the carriage first, holding the door open for his Headmistress to alight. She was the largest woman Harry had ever seen in his life – only Hagrid had her beat for sheer size, and that was in bulk rather than height. Aside from their size the two couldn’t be more distinct in appearance, however. Hagrid always wore rough linen and leather, with his hair and beard a giant tangled frizz around his face, while Madame Maxime was the epitome of grace as she glided forwards to greet Dumbledore. She wore a long black satin robe, her hair was pulled back in an intricate and tidy chignon at the base of her neck, and opals glittered at her neck and on her thick fingers.

A dozen Beauxbatons students in their late teens, both boys and girls, stood shivering in their thin blue silk robes as their Headmistress chatted with Dumbledore about the proper care of their pegasi, and everyone waited for the Durmstrang students. A couple of them had wrapped up in scarves for a little extra warmth – Harry wondered why they didn’t have proper cloaks as part of their school uniform. Didn’t it get cold in the Pyrenees in winter? Perhaps the school – whose precise location was a mystery to the British, at least – was in a warm valley. In any case, the chill of late autumn in Scotland was obviously a shock to the students. Perhaps Beauxbatons was magically heated. Could the Hot-Air Charm be set on a building?

The Beauxbatons students and Madame Maxime all went inside out of the cold, which seemed wise, while the Hogwarts students politely waited for the arrival of the exchange students from Durmstrang.

Finnigan was right in his muttered guess – the other school clearly wanted to make a dramatic entrance as well. It reminded Harry a little of the tents at the Quidditch World Cup – everyone wanting to show off to each other.

They arrived via what Hermione whispered excitedly whispered _must_ be a large-scale Portkey, in what Harry was sure had to be a heavily enchanted boat. It rose _up_ out of the Black Lake, from the middle of a magically-created whirlpool. Their ship looked eerily skeletal, with tattered sails and dim misty lights at the portholes. It looked more like a ghost ship than something anyone in their right mind would want to sail in anywhere, and it glided towards the bank without the need for any wind to fill its damaged sails. It was solid enough, though, and the students disembarked via a gangplank to the shore without any fuss. Their Headmaster, Professor Karkaroff, was a thin older man with a white goatee who wore a sleek silver fur cloak, while the eleven students following him wore rougher cloaks of shaggy, matted brown fur over the top of their deep blood-red robes.

An excited babble of whispers erupted from the Hogwarts students as they followed the Durmstrang students into the warmth of the Great Hall, particularly amongst those wearing colourful House ‘SQuid’ badges (which remained popular accessories with the Quidditch ban still only very recently lifted).

“It’s Krum!”

“He’s here! There, with the thick eyebrows!”

“Hmph! His eyebrows are _perfect_.”

“Do you think he’ll join in some matches? I heard someone wrote to him!”

“Do you think he’d sign my hat with a lipstick?”

Sadly, the hopes of Quidditch-mad Gryffindors like the Weasleys, Jordan, and Johnson were all dashed when Krum and the rest of the Durmstrang students settled down at the Slytherin table. Draco, Vincent, and Greg all looked particularly smug as Krum sat down right next to their group.

“They should have sat _here_ ,” moaned Ron jealously. “ _We_ could have been eating dinner with Viktor Krum!”

“The Slytherins set aside room at their House table for guests,” Harry said, with an uncaring shrug that earned him a brief scowl from the Quidditch fans. “We didn’t. It was a smart idea to welcome them by making room.”

“ _Cunning and sneaky_ , you mean,” Ron grumbled.

At Hermione’s recommendation, Harry helped himself to some bouillabaisse, a seafood stew which was one of the many foreign dishes that the house-elves had cooked for the most sumptuous feast Harry had seen yet at Hogwarts.

Hogwarts was certainly out to impress that evening. All the students were neat and tidy, and pets – specifically including potentially terrifying snakes – had been banned from the tables, which were set with plates and bowls of solid gold. Freshly cleaned House banners adorned the walls behind the students’ tables, and there was a banner displaying the united Hogwarts crest on the wall behind the teachers’ table. The Durmstrang students seemed to be admiring the golden plates, and the twinkle of stars seen through the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall, but the Beauxbatons students still seemed to be suffering from the cold temperature and looked disinclined to admire their surroundings.

The Beauxbatons students had settled down at the Ravenclaw table, which didn’t cause the sighs of regret that the Durmstrang students’ selection of their host House table had. At least, not until one of the Beauxbatons witches came over to the Gryffindor table to ask for one of their dishes.

“Excuse me, are you wanting ze bouillabaisse?” she asked, gesturing at the tureen in front of Ron, her eyes flicking covertly over to Harry who was sitting nearby. She’d unwound her thick blue scarf as she’d approached, which she’d previously had wrapped around her neck and head almost like a muffler. Her long silvery-blonde hair and deep blue eyes seemed to have more than a few people enthralled by her looks as she approached. Harry knew to assign the credit to her Veela ancestral powers rather than to looks alone, however, and felt sympathy for Ron who was turning purple and reduced to making a faint gurgling noise, rendered totally unable to speak in the beautiful girl’s presence.

“Hello again, Miss… er… Delacour, wasn’t it?” Harry was pretty sure that it was the same young woman who’d accidentally enthralled him at his book signing in Lutèce, but he wasn’t _completely_ sure. He didn’t want to look closely enough at her face to tell.

“Yes, ‘ello again, Mister Potter. The book of your patron was very interesting.”

“That’s great to hear. We’ve served ourselves some soup already, it was very nice, though I’m afraid it may be getting a little cold now and may need a warming charm. You’re welcome to take the tureen if you like,” Harry said politely, thinking hard of an empty and peaceful ocean shore and trying to avoid looking directly into her eyes for too long. He’d read that helped with Veela allure a little, just like it did for resisting vampires’ allure and for preventing Legilimency attacks.

He welcomed her to Hogwarts in French. “ _Vous pouvez vous servir s'il vous plaît, et Bienvenue à Hogwarts_. _J'espère que vous appréciez votre séjour ici._ ”

“ _Merci, monsieur._ ”

“Th-th-the cabbage r-rolls are v-very nice too,” Neville volunteered with a notable stammer, blushing as he stared at their visitor. Ron gurgled wordlessly and nodded his agreement as Neville clumsily pushed the tray of mince-stuffed cabbage rolls swimming in milky gravy towards her, knocking over a little pot of tartly sweet red berry sauce as he did so. Neville looked mortified as he tried to mop up the spilled jam with a linen napkin. His efforts mostly just helped the red stain spread across the formerly pristine white tablecloth.

“Zat is not French cuisine. I sink maybe it is from ze Kalmar Union,” Delacour said with a haughty sniff, looking down her nose at Neville. “Something for ze Durmstrang students.”

“You’re _so_ right; the soup was _much_ better,” Ron said breathlessly, finding his voice at last. However, Harry knew that in fact Ron hadn’t tried _either_ dish, having stuck to more ordinary fare like steak-and-kidney pudding.

Hermione let out a harrumph and cast a cleaning charm on the tablecloth to get rid of the berry stains. “Boys,” she muttered in irritation, as the girl went back to the Ravenclaw table with the tureen of bouillabaisse.

Ron started waxing lyrical to Finnegan and Neville and anyone who would listen about how beautiful the girl was, and how gorgeous Veela were in general (once the origin of her beautiful allure was pointed out to him).

Neville mumbled an apology to Hermione and his thanks for her help and started dishing himself out a generous serving of various desserts, avoiding looking at or talking to anyone.

Wanting to try something new even though his beloved treacle tart was on the table too, Harry nabbed himself a couple of chocolate-drizzled profiteroles, and a glass filled with a layered dessert of granola, cherry compote, and whipped cream. Eating dairy was still a novelty for him and filled him with quiet rebellious delight.

“She’s a Veela, or rather, a part-Veela. So she can’t help the reactions she causes,” Harry said, in half-apology to Hermione on Fleur’s behalf.

“ _You_ were fine. Did you know her?” Hermione asked. “You knew her name.”

“Yeah, but only a little. I met her and her family briefly at a book signing in Lutèce. She has a wizard father.”

“Oh, Lutetia? Your trip to magical Paris?”

“Yup! So that helped – I knew to avoid eye contact and try my best Occlumency. Though it wasn’t really enough at the Quidditch World Cup, with so many of them. Anyway, I’ve been reading up on Veela – I bought a book on them in France. Apparently, they’re the harpies from Muggle Ancient Greek legends, though you should note that in wizarding culture it’s a social faux pas to call them that. ‘Harpy’ is used specifically for their fire-throwing bird-like form, and over time has become quite the insult, so they generally prefer ‘Veela’ now. It’s short for ‘Samovila’, which is the Bulgarian term for them. They call them just ‘Vila’ in Yugoslavia, so I think that’s where we Brits got our term from.”

“Did you know, Harry, that Yugoslavia broke up into separate states a couple of years ago?”

“Did it? Sorry, I don’t know a lot about Muggle politics anymore. As for wizarding history and geography… well, you know. Binn’s not exactly teaching us anything modern, or any geography apart from British, and not much of that. I only know bits and pieces of how wizards divide up the world.”

Harry got stuck into his dessert while Hermione served herself some blancmange.

“Why do you think a Veela is going to Beauxbatons?” Hermione mused. “I would have guessed she would go to Durmstrang, if Krum is there. Veela are Bulgarian too, after all.”

“Her family seems French, though, so there might be a language barrier. Or perhaps the Durmstrang Institute doesn’t admit students who are part goblin or Veela, like Beauxbatons does. They let vampires and werewolves into Durmstrang, but I don’t know about other races?”

“Do you think there’s a Veela enclave in France?”

“Oh! Yes, I bet there is, I know they spread out, but I don’t know how far. Maybe they like the warmer weather in France? Veela don’t like the cold, and Durmstrang is somewhere in Scandinavia, which has to be colder than France surely, even if Beauxbatons is in the Pyrenees. There’s still a large population in Bulgaria, though. I read that Veela there don’t even like to move around much in winter – they practically hibernate all winter in an all-Veela village in Bulgaria called Zmajkovo.”

Hermione looked at Harry and smiled slowly. “You know, my parents used to despair that I’d ever make friends, with the way my nose was always stuck in a book. But you’re almost as bad as me, aren’t you? You know I’m going to need to borrow that one too.”

“It’s not _really_ a bad thing to read though, is it?”

“ _I_ don’t think so, obviously. So, what else do you know about Veela? Are they really all women? How does that even work?”

“Parthenogenesis while in their bird-like harpy form,” Harry said. “Not that the author called it that, but obviously it is, since the daughters that they hatch from eggs are identical in every way to their mothers. In their human form Veela can uh… they’re compatible with wizards or Muggles. But usually the children don’t inherit the ability to change shape, in such cases. They keep some of their mother’s allure, but that’s about it. I suspect it becomes like a recessive trait.”

They chatted for a while longer about Veela, and how it was rumoured that their supernatural abilities weren’t as strong as they used to be centuries ago when they spent almost all their whole lives in their bird forms, until Neville drew their attention to the fact that the speeches were about to start. Harry was pleased to see Percy Weasley sitting up there. Percy was introduced as the ‘Acting Head of the Department of International Magical Co-operation’, which had him blushing brightly as he got him some House-proud cheers from the Gryffindors and a smattering of applause from other students.

Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, got a much louder round of applause, famous and popular former Beater that he was.

The whole hall went completely silent as the Goblet of Fire was brought out, and everyone gazed at the cup as he held it up. It was a large, roughly hewn wooden cup, and would have been entirely unremarkable, had it not been full to the brim with dancing, blue-white flames. Harry wondered how old it was, and what the enchantments on it were. Ancient ones, no doubt, perhaps similar to those on the Sorting Hat. The Tournament had been going on for _centuries_ – they hadn’t even _held_ a Triwizard Tournament for the past two hundred years, according to Hermione.

Every ear was pricked attentively as Dumbledore explained about the Tournament. “The Tournament will consist of four tasks demanding magical skill, daring, and deduction. The Triwizard champion will be the entrant with the highest points total after the fourth task, and will win a thousand Galleons for themselves, and their school will have the honour of hosting the next Triwizard Cup in four years’ time. Small prizes will be awarded to second and third place champions.

“Tomorrow on Halloween one champion from each school will be impartially chosen by the Goblet of Fire from names submitted over the next day as the ones most worthy of representing their schools. This is a contest strictly for our older students who are both highly capable and willing to enter a binding magical contract. I will be placing an Age Line ward around the Goblet to prevent our younger students under seventeen from yielding to temptation.”

“A few drops of Ageing Potion should take care of that, hey George,” Fred Weasley said, with a determined glint in his eye. “Once your name’s in, you’re in, if it’s a ‘binding magical contract’ like the Headmaster said. Do you want a vial too, after we brew some, Harry? You’re entering too, right?”

“Hey! What about me?! I’m your _brother_!” Ron objected stridently.

“I doubt _anyone_ under seventeen will stand a chance,” said Hermione. “None of us are NEWT level, and one or two spells at that level won’t be enough if it comes to a duel.”

“Speak for yourself,” George Weasley said shortly.

“We owe Harry for years of help,” his twin said to Ron. “ _You_ we owe nothing, and in fact we promised mum we’d keep you out of trouble, ickle brother.” He ruffled Ron’s hair, and Ron scowled back at him.

Harry’s mind danced briefly with visions of the whole school cheering for him, before he shook his head. “No,” he said slowly. “I mean, it might be nice to win, but it would be pretty dangerous. Good luck to you two if you enter it, but… be careful, alright?”

“Careful as a fox in a henhouse,” promised the twins in chorus, each with a wink, as the Gryffindors all pushed away from the table and headed for their dorms.

Ron and some of the other Gryffindors were eager to catch another glimpse of Krum, and the press of bodies heading towards the Slytherin tables pulled the less fan-struck students along with them.

They caught up to the Durmstrang students at the door and got to overhear Karkaroff offering some mulled wine to Krum but refusing it to Poliakoff, another of the Durmstrang boys. The Durmstrang Headmaster froze in place when he caught sight of Harry, eyes locked onto his face, and his famous scar. Harry wasn’t sure, but he thought the man looked almost frightened. Some of the Durmstrang students were staring at him too. Poliakoff, the boy who’d missed out on wine, nudged a red-robed girl next to him and was whispering and pointing openly at Harry’s forehead. Harry flattened his fringe down over his forehead and tucked his pointed hat down more securely.

“Yeah, that’s the famous Harry Potter,” growled a voice behind them.

Professor Karkaroff spun around, colour draining from his face as he stared at Mad-Eye Moody in fury and fear.

“You!”

“Me,” said Moody grimly. “Unless you have something important to say to Potter, Karkaroff, you might want to move along. You are blocking the doorway.”

“I shall be watching you, Karkaroff!” Moody warned, as the wizard hurriedly led his students away without another word. He glared at Karkaroff’s back, a look of intense dislike on his mutilated face. Harry wondered what that was all about.

-000-

Lots of people were up early on Monday, eager to have a look at the Goblet of Fire before classes began. It had been placed in the centre of the hall atop the old wooden stool that normally bore the Sorting Hat. A thin golden line of tiny glowing runes had been magically imprinted on the floor, forming a circle ten feet around the stool and goblet. The Hall itself had been redecorated for Halloween, with convincingly realistic animated bats flitting around the ceiling and displays of carved pumpkins everywhere.

Draco waved to Harry as he saw him enter with Neville, calling them over to where he stood with Daphne, Greg, and Vincent, watching the flickering flames of the Goblet and the crowd of other students.

Hermione wasn’t with them as she hadn’t met Harry and Neville on time in the Common Room that morning to go down to breakfast – the two friends guessed she’d stayed up late reading again, as she often did whenever she had a new book to devour. Mornings were a trial to a late-night bookworm.

“Our Chaser Warrington put his name in at dawn since he’s just had his birthday and is old enough,” Daphne gossiped excitedly, “and Derrick put his name in just a few minutes ago.”

Harry glanced around and saw Derrick sitting over at the Slytherin table, enjoying his breakfast. Harry caught his friend’s eye and gave him a wave and a cheerful thumbs up as he mouthed “good luck”, which got Harry a brilliant grin in return, lighting up Derrick’s plain features with happiness.

“All the Durmstrang students put their names in earlier, which makes sense, otherwise why would they all bother to come?” Draco asked rhetorically.

“I think Krum will win,” Vincent said confidently.

“Being good at Quidditch might not be enough to win,” argued Daphne.

“It shows Krum is magically strong, to be such a good flier,” Neville replied, startling Vincent with his unexpected show of support. “He must be good at classes too, or he would not have bothered to come with the Durmstrang students. He has a successful Quidditch career, so it cannot be the money that draws him. He must truly think he can win.”

“They’re saying Diggory is the best chance for Hufflepuff, and Turner from Ravenclaw. Our Head Boy has to be in with a chance, after all!” Daphne babbled.

“I would agree on Turner, but I think McManus from Hufflepuff,” argued Draco, “the reserve Beater. I know his name is in, and he’s rumoured to be doing excellently at non-verbal casting. Who would you bet on from Gryffindor, Harry?”

“Johnson said she’s going for it, so I think she has the best chance. DADA is one of her best subjects, and gossip says she’s doing well in Care of Magical Creatures too. Hermione says there’s usually a lot of dangerous magical creature challenges in the Triwizard Tournament.”

“The Weasley twins and Lee Jordan are trying for it, though they’re a bit too young,” Neville volunteered, gesturing to where the trio had strutted over to the circle.

“They will never make it to the centre,” Draco said confidently.

“They brewed some Ageing Potion overnight,” Harry said. “They’ll make it.” They’d covertly offered some to him, just in case his prior refusal had been due to their offer being made in public, but he’d turned them down again.

“They won’t.”

The twins looked like they’d made it for a second, both leaping over the glowing circle, but just as one yelled in triumph there was a sizzling sound and they were magically thrown back ten feet and landed on the cold stone floor with a painful thud. They also sprouted long white beards, which got a lot of laughs from the surrounding students.

“Told you so. The same thing happened to Fawcett from Ravenclaw just ten minutes ago,” Draco said cheerfully. “Her beard did not end up as long as theirs, though.”

“Summers from Hufflepuff got caught too,” added Daphne. “He is only in fifth year, so I doubt he would have had a chance at winning anyway.”

“Excuse me, I’d better go check on the Weasley twins,” Harry said, bustling away. Lee Jordan was escorting his limping friends up towards the hospital wing, howling with laughter in a distinctly unsympathetic manner.

“Got anything for bruises, Harry?” one twin asked, wincing as he walked.

“Or injured pride?” added the other.

“Sorry, my Healer bag’s up in my dorm room,” Harry apologised. “Nothing broken, I hope?”

“The beards are _tremendous_ ,” Jordan laughed.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. You would have earned yourself one too, if you hadn’t been lagging behind,” the more injured twin grumbled.

“We are fine, but do you have anything for wounded pride? Hey, tell me how amazing our attempt was, and how we almost had it,” whined the other twin.

“You were amazing, you almost had it,” Harry reassured. “I’m sure you’ll manage to get your names in. What are you going to try next?”

“Next?”

“That’s it, that’s all we had.” The two walked along with hangdog expressions.

“Maybe they’ll hold it again next year, now it’s restarted?” Jordan offered. “We’ll get it another year.”

Harry tutted in disbelief. “Pranksters like you giving up? I’ve seen your growing list of inventions in your ads you hand out in the common room – you’re making up an inventory of novel potions the wizarding world has never seen. They’re amazing! And I’m saying that even though a few too many students have been brought to me with bloody noses that won’t stop running. Madam Pomfrey says to send all your test subjects or people with bad reactions directly to her in the future, by the way. If you really want this, don’t give up! There’s a _dozen_ ways you could try to get past the Age Line. You’ve only tried _one_.”

The trio stumbled to a halt. Fred and George exchanged a look and turned as one to Harry and said in pleading tones, “Teach us, o son of Prongs!”

“Sirius told you about their uh, prankster names, huh?” Harry asked, with amusement.

“He’s our patron!”

“He’s going to fund us starting a joke store when we graduate and has invested in our mail-order business until then.”

“He’s the master of merriment, the jester of japes!”

“A white sheep among the black, a king among men. And you, the son of the great and ignoble Prongs!”

“Slayer of serpents and Healer of the hurt! Hero to the… something else beginning with h!”

“Out of lines?” the other twin asked sympathetically.

“I blanked. All I had was ‘hairy’.”

“You should have gone with ‘helpless’.”

Jordan snickered at the duo.

“So, Prongs Junior, what are your best tips for getting past the Age Line?” the injured twin asked more seriously, bruises temporarily forgotten as he leant in close, eager for Harry’s answer.

“Wellll… you should stop thinking so much like Gryffindors, for starters. You don’t need to march straight up and cross the Age Line. The goal is to get the paper slip in the Goblet, that’s all. You could get someone to put your name in for you–” Harry started.

“No-one would go for that and miss their own chance!”

“Surely not _everyone_ in seventh year wants to go in the Tournament. I wouldn’t if I was a seventh-year – the Tournament’s not as important as NEWTs. Also, you could try sending an owl. Errol’s pretty old – is he over seventeen?”

“I think he might be!” one of the twins said excitedly.

“Thanks, Potter! What else have you got?” Jordan asked eagerly.

“Scrunch the paper up and throw it in, it’s only ten feet. If it doesn’t work, just summon the paper ball back and try again. Or make a paper aeroplane,” Harry suggested.

“Fred! What about that charm to animate a message bird!” George added eagerly. “The one they use on paperwork at the Ministry! That might do it, especially if it’s fast enough! The Age Line took a few seconds to react, after all.”

Harry nodded. “Sounds good! Also, runic wards are often a ring, rather than a dome. If you need to put the paper in the cup yourself, you could try getting up high – maybe levitating each other – and then lowering yourself across and down. Oh, and you could try making a runic amulet to get you past the wards, oh… but that would take a lot of study of the ring’s wards and I don’t think you’ll have the time.”

“I doubt we will, and besides, we took Arithmancy and Divination, not Ancient Runes,” said Fred.

“It is a pity we’re not Animagi, the wards might not recognise us like that,” mused George, as they all resumed their progress towards the hospital wing. “A plan for another day, perhaps. How about human transfiguration? What if you’re not human when you cross the Age Line? Oh! A Canary Cream might do the trick!”

They brainstormed ideas in excited whispers all the way up to the hospital wing. “‘Think Slytherin’, hmm… Let’s see if we can get a pass to go late to our first class!” Jordan suggested. “That will give us more time to try things unobserved in the hall while everyone is in the classrooms!”

Madam Pomfrey sighed as soon as she saw Harry walk through her door. “What have those rapscallions dosed people with this time?”

“Aw, don’t be like that, young Poppy,” a twin said, striding forward from behind Harry. “You should respect your elders!” He stroked his luxuriously long white beard to emphasize his point, which evoked an unwilling snort of laughter from Madam Pomfrey.

“Ah, so you are the victims today, rather than the culprits. Well, I have had three others through this morning thanks to the Headmaster’s little joke. ‘Twill be easy enough to counter.”

“They have some bruises too, Madam Pomfrey, at the very least. They landed hard on the stone floor when the ward flung them out,” Harry volunteered. “Say, while I’m here anyway, did you find that book you mentioned with good pain relief charms?”

Madam Pomfrey charmed away the twins’ beards with a practised twirl of her wand and a muttered charm and directed them to sit on some beds. They seemed happy to wait for further attention and went into a huddle with Jordan to plot their next approach to reach the Goblet of Fire, while Madam Pomfrey led Harry to her office.

“Here you go lad, I borrowed it from a friend at St. Mungo’s, so mind you bring it back safely,” Madam Pomfrey said, passing Harry a thick, leather-bound tome marked with a blue-tasselled silk bookmark. “I have marked the page for you. However, you _must_ remember that such charms are for the most grievous of circumstances. Stunning Charms – while your patient is lying down of course – are a better first choice, or a Sleeping Draught if the patient has a weak heart. The charms in this book act to numb an area so no pain is felt at all, which means your patient may ignore their wound and injure themselves further by trying to do too much. Pain is the body’s message to rest and heal and should _not_ be ignored.”

“But surely no-one would try to walk on a broken leg, or anything?” Harry objected.

“ _Always_ assume your patients are idiots,” Madam Pomfrey said, with a resigned snort and a weary shake of her head, “and you will rarely be disappointed. That goes double if Quidditch is involved in any way.”

Harry nodded obediently.

“Now, mild pain relief potions such as Stomach Soother Potions and Headache Relievers are alright so long as there’s no serious underlying cause, and they’re not used in conjunction with anything else, or for too long. Remember, Potter, that diagnosing illnesses and combining potions are jobs best left to Healers or mediwitches and wizards. It is far too easy to cause a dangerous imbalance of the humours that can injure your patient.”

“I can combine a charm with a potion, without worrying about possible side-effects, though?” Harry asked, trailing after her with his borrowed book, as she returned to the overly innocent-looking Weasleys. She cast a couple of charms on them before sending them on their way, with a tiny jar of Bruise Balm for them to apply themselves as needed. Persuaded by their pleas, also gave them a pass to arrive late to their first class.

“You can combine charms and Healing potions so long as it is not a charm that affects the humours, like Tarantallegra,” Madam Pomfrey said, as if there hadn’t been a long pause between Harry’s question and her answer.

“The Dancing Feet Charm? Isn’t that just a joke or duelling spell?”

“Not originally. It was originally crafted to cure spider and scorpion bites – it increases the level of sanguine humour in the patient and separates the venom from the blood by heating it up. You should note that it is forbidden to use that particular spell on Muggles or Squibs, as it acts as a contagious curse when cast on them and causes the dancing disease Paracelsus called ‘choreomania’ to spread to any other nearby Muggles.”

“Did that happen a lot?”

“It used to. The charm was used for centuries on the old stone Circles and was also a very popular property ward. However, it was banned from use in wards or on Muggles in the seventeenth century, with the wave of reforms protecting Muggles brought in during King Charles’ reign.

“Off to breakfast with you now, young man. I do appreciate your enthusiasm, but I usually only work with seventh-years who want to earn a reference for a Healing Apprenticeship. I do understand your love for Healing, and I know people are coming to you for aid but please, send them to me. That is my _job_.”

Harry shuffled his feet embarrassedly. “Sometimes people need help right away, or no-one’s around. Like at the Quidditch World Cup. I do send people to you at Hogwarts, when I can. Honestly, I do! I sent Midgen to you, and that girl with the broken arm, didn’t I? And the first-years with nose bleeds?”

Poppy’s kind blue eyes softened as he spoke. “Yes, you are doing fine, Potter. It is just a reminder. I understand why you are anxious, which is why I am helping find you advanced Healing charms. Just remember that they are for _emergencies_ , that is all. I do not want you numbing a friend’s broken leg so they can keep playing Chaser in the middle of a match, no matter how much they plead, or dulling the pain of an Acromantula bite someone gained when sneaking off into the Forbidden Forest. The former could see them worsen an injury, and the latter could be _fatal_.”

Harry nodded. “I guess sometimes people _are_ coming to me when they don’t want to get in trouble. I promise I’ll be responsible.”

“Good. Off you go now! Happy Halloween!”

“Happy Halloween!” Harry echoed obediently, as he left. Hopefully it would be this year, with nothing more dangerous in the offing than another feast and the selection of the Triwizard champions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> French translations (with thanks to Stefan Bathory):  
> \- Please help yourself, and welcome to Hogwarts. I hope you enjoy your stay here.  
> \- Thank you, sir.  
> Tricsha Wren and Untrust Us – thanks for helping with new dishes at the feast.  
> Cabbage rolls – Neville’s recommended dish was Kåldolmar, a Swedish dish popular across Scandinavia. Lightly-spiced mince is wrapped in cabbage leaves before baking, and served with a milky gravy, mashed potatoes, and some lingonberry jam.  
> Layered dessert – Harry and Neville tried Granola Med Kirsebærkompott, a Norwegian dessert.  
> OpalHonors and 191811110 – A snippet with Madam Pomfrey for you.  
> Wizarding Europe - I've gotten creative with country borders, because wizards don't always care what changes the Muggles make over the centuries. Map is up on my [Story Images page](http://members.optusnet.com.au/~pelari/potter.htm).


	6. The Champions Are Chosen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Halloween and the choosing of the Triwizard champions.

**_31 st October 1994_ **

The Triwizard Tournament was almost all anyone could talk about on Halloween, and eventually even Harry and Hermione succumbed to the inevitable and gave up their attempt at having a quiet study session in the library in favour of chatting with their friends. They only had an hour or so of free time before the Halloween Feast was due to begin, so Harry figured it wasn’t _too_ much of a loss and packed his books away. Hermione left hers out, however, and Harry suspected that she was using “I have to study” as an excuse to avoid talking to anyone she didn’t want to socialise with. She seemed quite willing to be interrupted in her note-taking by Harry, Neville, Greg, Luna, or Millicent.

Anthony and Tracey were the only others in their group with books still out, but the couple were using them as cover to pass notes back and forth to each other that they were both grinning secretively over.

“We have only got four entrants for the Triwizard Tournament from Slytherin, that I know of,” Daphne said. “There may be some entrants aren’t announcing that they put their names in, however. The safe money is on Derrick or Warrington.”

“Is that a lot of entrants? It does not sound like a lot,” said Luna. “Ravenclaw even has a couple of younger students entering too, though I am bemused as to how they managed it.”

The newly clean-shaven Weasley twins had given Harry an exited thumbs up at lunch time, from where they were sitting with a huddled group of Gryffindor sixth-years. Harry was pretty sure that a few Ravenclaws weren’t the only ones who’d found a way around the Age Line’s restrictions.

“Gryffindor has a lot more students entering,” said Neville. “At least half of the seventh-years, and a few of the older sixth-years. Should the Slytherins not be more ambitious and want to win?”

Draco made a scoffing noise. “The prize money is _pitiful_ for the risk entailed, and as for the alleged fame? The most famous Hogwarts Triwizard Tournament champion is probably Agnes Brown, who got bitten by a Malaclaw during one of the tasks. Her subsequent exceptional run of misfortune ended with her being eaten alive by a tribe of Erklings in the third task after she broke her wand. It is the last known Erkling death – they were supposed to be practically extinct.”

Harry paled. “That’s horrible. Hogwarts should really just host an inter-school cricket tournament instead.”

“Cricket is a Muggle sport that is a bit like competing teams of landbound Beaters who take turns trying to score the most points by hitting an ordinary ball and running back and forth,” Greg abruptly told Draco, who looked confused. “They have to protect their goal which is some sticks poked in the ground. It is very popular with Muggles in England and some of the colonies.”

“Hmph. Sounds odd and interminably dull. Quidditch would be better-” Draco said. He cut himself off as he glanced in Hermione’s direction, even though she didn’t appear to be paying attention to their conversation.

“Well anyway, there is a reason the Tournament has not been held for two hundred years. Too many deaths. If you ask me, you would have to be an idiot or desperately poor to go in it, but please do not tell Derrick I said that,” Draco said. “He cannot help his family’s situation.”

As the group headed down to the Great Hall, they were joined by Theodore Nott, who slid into place to walk just behind Harry, next to Luna. Occasionally studying or walking together through the halls was one of the negotiated conditions of their show of friendship. Harry still didn’t know what Theodore should do in return for such concessions and was just holding a major favour in reserve for the time being.

They bumped into Ron, Finnegan, and Thomas in the corridors on the way to the feast, and Ron’s face was beaming with excitement.

“Hey! Guess what? I got my name in the Goblet of Fire! It changed from blue flames and spat out proper red sparks and everything! I am _in_!”

“Really, how did you manage that? Neville asked, amazed.

“A little owl told me how my brot… some other underage students got their names in,” Ron said, with an overly obvious wink in Harry’s direction. “So, I used one of their rumoured tips! Imagine – _a thousand Galleons_!”

Harry knew _he_ hadn’t told Ron how to enter, but it seemed confirmed that the twins’ attempts to put their names in the Goblet had been both successful and gossiped about.

“You can’t just go breaking the rules like that,” tutted Hermione. “The Headmaster set an Age Line for a reason! It’s too dangerous, and you are too young.”

“That’s just a dumb _new_ rule, now,” Finnegan said, in defence of his friend. “It used t’ be open t’ any age!”

Draco smirked at Harry, then turned to Ron and said with a straight face, “I think you would be a perfect Triwizard champion, Weasley, you are just the right type to enter! You might be the next champion to win unexpected fame for Hogwarts!”

Ron narrowed his eyes suspiciously, suspecting a hidden insult but unable to spot it.

“Thanks, I guess, if that wasn’t sarcastic,” he muttered. “Wish me luck, then?” He gave Draco a challenging look.

Draco smiled brightly. “Good luck, Weasley. I hope you get in and end up even more famous than the renowned Triwizard champion Agnes Brown.”

Harry grinned despite himself as the Slytherins and Anthony muffled their snickers, and Ron smiled tentatively at the highly unexpected display of carefully straight-faced support.

“Thank you!” he said politely.

“ _Honestly_ ,” Hermione muttered. “Foolishness all around.”

“ _Quod erat demonstrandum_ ,” Draco said happily, as Ron left.

Ron wandered off to the feast trailed by Hermione who was trying to talk him into somehow withdrawing his entry, with a total lack of success on her part and increasing irritation on his.

-000-

The Halloween feast was just as much of a treat as ever, but it was lingered over than usual as most of the students were waiting impatiently to hear who would be selected as champions. A lot of people were craning their necks – or even standing on chairs – to see if Dumbledore and the other officials at the top table had finished eating yet. Karkaroff and Percy Weasley had eaten their dinners with brisk efficiency, but Madame Maxime and Ludo Bagman were still working their way through full plates, and Dumbledore was lingering over the remnants of his meal while he chatted brightly with everyone.

There were also two new visitors at the head table that Harry didn’t recognise. Gossip from some of the older students who’d done their OWLs identified the wrinkled white-haired witch in a purple robe as Professor Griselda Marchbanks, who always oversaw the Charms and Transfiguration exams, and a few others too as needed. She was rumoured to be tough but fair, tolerating no nonsense or excuses, and used an enchanted gold ear trumpet during exams to hear students’ incantations as she was going deaf. The other visitor wasn’t recognised by any of the nearby Gryffindors. He was an old white-haired wizard in a blue suit with a waistcoat and he was chatting amicably with Professor Hagrid.

Finally, when it was almost time for the names to be picked by the Goblet of Fire, Dumbledore rose at last and the students hushed as he explained how the champions should come up into the chamber behind the staff table after their names were called.

He also introduced the new guests at the table. “Mr. Bagman and Mr. Weasley have worked diligently to select some experienced and impartial judges for the Triwizard Tournament. Mr. Bagman is the first of our three judges. He is the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, and his experience as a Beater for the English National team and Wimbourne Wasps and almost twenty years of being a guest match referee for various Quidditch matches, the National Gobstones Tournament, and duelling tournaments should stand him in good stead as a Triwizard judge.”

There was polite applause as Bagman stood up and waved, before Dumbledore resumed. “Professor Griselda Marchbanks, Governor of the Wizarding Examinations Authority, is our second Triwizard judge. She has six Masteries in various subjects and has been scrupulously and impartially assessing Hogwarts’ students’ magical skills for over a century now.”

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled as he added, “You can be sure she is good at her job because she gave me an ‘Outstanding’ on my Transfiguration and Charms NEWT exams many years ago!”

Marchbanks stood and nodded her head in recognition of the polite applause. “Thank you, everyone. Remember to study hard this year, if you are preparing for your OWL and NEWT exams!” she said loudly.

“The third judge is someone whose name you may recognise if you are studying Care of Magical Creatures due to his renowned expertise in the field for decades. Please give a warm welcome to the world-travelling famous Magizoologist and author, Mr. Newt Scamander!”

The man ducked his head shyly as the hall applauded for him and waved awkwardly from where he was sitting.

“Our younger students may look forward to potentially competing against some students from more schools than just Beauxbatons and Durmstrang in four years’ time, as Mr. Weasley has nascent plans to expand the Triwizard Tournament and guide it into becoming a true global Tournament with a number of additional schools competing next time.”

The younger students were excited by that news, while many of the fourth and fifth-year students sighed that they were just the right age to miss out on all the fun of _both_ Tournaments.

Percy, Harry noticed, looked particularly smug and proud. Harry remembered that in Percy’s last brief letter he’d mentioned that he was working very hard to prove how capable he was as Acting Head of his department in hopes of retaining the position on a permanent basis.

“Quiet now, please! It is time to see who will be selected by the Goblet of Fire to be this year’s champions.”

Dumbledore waved his wand and extinguished all the lights in the Hall apart from the dim flickering candles inside the carved pumpkins, and the brilliant blue-white flames coming from the Goblet of Fire.

They all waited with bated breath as the Goblet’s flames turned suddenly red, just like it did when a name was dropped in. Sparks began to fly from the goblet and a tongue of flame shot into the air, and a charred piece of parchment fluttered out of it – the whole room gasped.

“The champion for Durmstrang,” Dumbledore read, after catching it, “will be Viktor Krum.”

The Hall erupted in cheers and calls of support, and Krum slouched past the staff table and entered the chamber behind it.

The flames flickered back to blue, then returned to red as the Goblet shot out a second piece of parchment, propelled by flames.

“The champion for Beauxbatons is Fleur Delacour!”

Despite not having Krum’s international fame, she also got a rowdy chorus of cheers and noisy applause from the Hogwarts students, especially the male ones. Two of her fellow Beauxbatons students, however, had burst into tears, while some others looked deeply disappointed as they clapped politely but unenthusiastically.

Under the cover of the applause and chatter about the selection for Beauxbatons, the Weasley twins took a few last-minute bets from excited Gryffindors on who the Hogwarts champion would be.

“A Sickle on Johnson!”

“Done. Thanks, Bell,” a twin said, writing down her name and bet on a parchment sheet with a scratchy quill.

“A Galleon on myself, Cormac McLaggen,” a blond fifth-year said proudly.

“You got it! Got your name in, hey? Good luck!”

“Two Sickles on Diggory!”

“I won’t take that bet, he didn’t put his name in,” a twin whispered apologetically. “I heard his poor mum begged him not to enter, saying it was too dangerous.”

“Oh. Well, two Sickles on Derrick, then.”

The whispered bets died down, and the expectant silence was so thick you could almost touch it, as they waited for the announcement of the Hogwarts champion.

The Goblet flamed once more, and from the tip of a tongue of flame Dumbledore pulled the third piece of parchment.

“The champion for Hogwarts is-” he started, then suddenly stopped speaking as he stared at the slip in his hands, while everyone in the room stared at him, as if trying to collectively will him to hurry up. 

“-Harold Potter.”

There was a moment of startled silence, then a tremendous roar of triumph erupted from the Gryffindor table. A swell of cheers and applause came from the other tables too, especially from the Slytherins who sounded almost as excited as the Gryffindors at Harry’s unexpected selection as the Hogwarts champion.

“Harry? You put your name in?” Neville asked, yelling over the din.

“No! I didn’t! I wanted a quiet, normal year!”

“I wish it had been me,” Ron said wistfully. “Oh well. Well done, Harry! Levitation Charm to get it in, right? That’s what I did.”

“I didn’t enter my name!” Harry insisted.

“Didn’t you? Well we did!” a Weasley twin called excitedly. “We put your name in for you, Potter, since we thought you might not have time left to do it without being spotted!”

Johnson gently punched the Weasley twin on the arm for that. “Hey, what about me?”

“Come on, Angelina, no call for violence, you wouldn’t want me punching you now? I didn’t actually think he would beat you to the spot!” the twin pleaded, rubbing his arm and pouting. Neither of them seemed truly upset, so Harry didn’t worry too much about their byplay.

“Oh dear!” Hermione said, chewing her lip worriedly. “Well… good luck, Harry!”

Bracing with hunched shoulders against a gauntlet of back-slapping and handshakes, Harry walked down the Hall in the gap between the Gryffindor and Slytherin tables, with people congratulating him on both sides.

Colin Creevey was one of the excited hand-shakers, and piped in an excited whisper, “I overheard some of the Weasley twins’ tips, and I bribed a Slytherin senior to put your name in!”

His face lit up even more as he added, “Hey! I’m going to win so much money on the betting pool!”

His Slytherin friends congratulated him as he passed too, though Draco seemed less enthusiastic about it than the others.

Theodore gave him a knowing nod and raised eyebrows, but Harry had no idea how to interpret that – it could mean anything. Maybe he was trying to say a simple, “Congratulations, Harold!”, or maybe it was, “Good job cheating to get in, you’re a true Heir of Slytherin!” with a distinct possibility of, “I put your name in the Goblet for you to repay that favour I owed you! You’re most welcome!” There was no way to know without asking him, and he didn’t have the leisure to do so right now.

After what felt like an age, Harry finally reached Dumbledore.

“Well… through the door, Harry,” said Dumbledore. He wasn’t smiling.

As Harry closed the heavy wooden door behind him and entered the small antechamber lined with paintings of witches and wizards, he heard the muffled sounds of a raucous burst of laughter and cheering from back in the Great Hall. He hoped people weren’t joking and laughing behind his back at him being chosen.

“You?” Fleur Delacour said, turning from where she stood next to a roaring fireplace. “You are ze ‘Ogwarts champion? You must be brave but your are just a little boy!”

“I guess so. A couple of people put my name in for me – I didn’t do it myself. I don’t mind pulling out if they want to try again to redraw an older champion,” Harry said, with an uncomfortable shrug.

She looked thoughtful for a moment, then tossed back her silvery hair with a smile. “Well, I sink you should stay in. You fought ze Basilisk very bravely.”

Harry looked away from her, blushing against his will. He looked at Viktor Krum’s surly face instead, whose thick eyebrows contracted as he pondered the matter.

“You just want a two-school race,” Krum rumbled accusingly to Delacour. “He is too yunk for dis competition. He should be replacet by en older student.” His thick Bulgarian accent put an abrupt trill on his r’s and a throaty hiss on his h’s, but overall his grammar was good and Harry found it wasn’t too hard to understand him.

“I’m right here, you know,” Harry said, a little irritated, “and I already said I’m fine if they want to do a redraw. I didn’t enter myself – someone put my name in for me without telling me. Two people at least, maybe more.”

“Sorry,” Krum said shortly, looking uncomfortable. “I dit not mean any offence.”

“I don’t sink zey _can_ replace you-” Fleur said, cutting herself off as a procession of teachers entered the room.

The Headmasters and Headmistress of the three schools came in first, followed closely by the three Triwizard Tournament judges, Percy Weasley, and Professor McGonagall.

Percy looked almost smug at Harry’s selection, giving him an approving nod and a wide smile, but his restrained response was overshadowed by Bagman’s, who looked thrilled to bits. Bagman was the first to push forward to shake Harry’s hand, while the other two champions were congratulated by their respective heads of their schools.

“Extraordinary, absolutely extraordinary!” Bagman said eagerly.

Dumbledore shook Harry’s hand next, and said calmly, “Congratulations, Mr. Potter. May I ask, did you put your name into the Goblet of Fire, or ask someone to do so for you?”

“No, sir, I didn’t. Though I do suspect a couple of people may have put my name in on my behalf, without my asking them to.”

“I don’t know whether to congratulate you or take twenty points from Gryffindor,” McGonagall said with a rueful shake of her head, but the broad smile on her face suggested she was favouring the former option.

“The papers had your name in your own handwriting,” Dumbledore said gravely.

Harry shrugged. “I didn’t do it, I said that already. But… I did autograph a lot of books this summer, and a handful of photos. It wouldn’t have been hard for someone to get a hold of my signature.”

“Your age line does not appear to ‘ave been very successful for ze defence,” Madame Maxime said. “Ze boy’s name even came out of ze Goblet _two times_. Someone was very determined to see you as ‘Ogwarts’ champion, Monsieur Potter.”

 _Twice?_ Harry thought puzzledly.

“Professor Moody, as our head of security for the Tournament, is examining the Goblet now to see how that happened,” Dumbledore explained, sounding a little embarrassed. “He suspects the interference of an adult wizard is responsible for the second drawing, which should not have been possible.”

“I’m sorry, Professors. I really didn’t enter myself as I had no wish to compete. As I’m too young for the competition I’d be genuinely happy to withdraw in favour of an older Hogwarts student who might have more chance of winning,” Harry said, crossing his fingers behind his back in the hope that he’d be able to pull out of the competition.

“You would truly prefer to withdraw, then?” Dumbledore asked, eyebrows raised.

“I sink it would be good,” Madame Maxime said approvingly. “Monsieur Potter is too young and would not have a chance against Mademoiselle Delacour! ‘E can be badly ‘urt in ze challenges.”

McGonagall harrumphed in disagreement. “I would not rule him out so easily! Potter is quite precociously talented in many of his subjects, and a very brave lad! If he didn’t have a decided chance at winning, he would not have been selected by the Goblet. The enchantments are ancient but reliable.”

Harry hunched up his shoulders. He didn’t really believe that was true. It was probably just his usual bad luck, and because his name had been entered more than once the odds had been higher that he’d be picked. “Yes, sir, if it’s possible. I was hoping for a quiet year. Sorry.” As much as it was possible to have a quiet year, anyway, with _two_ versions of Lord Voldemort and a handful of Death Eaters and killer werewolves out there on the loose.

“Interesting,” Karkaroff said, with a native British accent. He watched Harry carefully, with narrowed eyes. “Fascinating, even.”

“The Goblet of Fire uses a form of Divination to pick the candidates from their schools most likely to succeed, you know!” Bagman added excitedly. McGonagall smiled and winced, pleased by his support but no doubt irritated by the reference to Divination, which she wasn’t in favour of. “Potter must simply be destined to be the best candidate from Hogwarts.”

“His name should still not have come out twice, however,” Percy said. “Something odd is going on, but I am sure Professor Moody will get to the bottom of it. You are right of course sir, that Harry will no doubt have an _excellent_ chance in the Tournament.”

Harry gave him a little smile in thanks for his support.

Professor Moody clomped into the room and immediately went over to Dumbledore for a whispered conference.

“Mr. Bagman, Mr. Weasley, is there any way to choose a new champion for Hogwarts?” Dumbledore asked, a moment later.

“I don’t believe so. Weasley, you’ve had your nose in that rulebook for months, what do you think?” Bagman asked, turning to his young colleague.

Percy shook his head slowly. “I cannot see any easy way out of it. The drawing of a champion’s name forms a binding magical contract. The Goblet of Fire’s enchantments are very old and complex magic, an interweaving of charms, runes, and Arithmancy that has the Department of Mysteries very impressed. The consequences of withdrawing are unclear but likely to be dire. In addition to which the Goblet has now gone out and will not be able to be relit for at least another two or three years; it needs lengthy ritual exposure to moonlight to regain its power. Even should Ha… Mr. Potter manage to withdraw safely Hogwarts would be left without a champion.”

Harry looked around the room at the expectant faces. Karkaroff and Maxime looked like they might be fine with that plan, but clearly all the other adults would be disappointed.

“Oh. Well, I guess I’ll do my best then,” Harry promised.

Bagman looked very excited at Harry’s capitulation, and rubbed his hands together excitedly. “Well then! Let us get started!”

At Dumbledore’s nod Percy cleared his throat, and announced, “The first task will take place on November the twenty-fourth, in front of the assembled students and a panel of the three Triwizard judges.

“The champions are not permitted to ask for or accept direct help of any kind from their teachers or any sources outside their schools to complete the tasks in the Tournament. The champions will face the first challenge armed only with their wands. A clue will be given about the nature of each of the upcoming four tasks, but only one clue at a time.”

“Mr. Scamander, the clue for the first task, if you would be so kind!” Bagman said.

Mr. Scamander tugged at his blue frock coat to straighten it, then stepped forward and said softly, “Good luck to all three of you.”

Scamander handed each champion a gilt-edged rectangle of parchment with the clue allegedly written down on it. It was completely blank. That was an easy puzzle to solve, however.

“ _Aparecium_ ,” Harry murmured softly, tapping the parchment with his wand to reveal invisible writing. The other two champions were doing similarly, Krum slightly ahead of Delacour who copied the other two.

Glittering gold calligraphy appeared on the page which read: ‘Brought forth in anger, I have no legs and yet I dance. Food I demand, but I never drink. The unborn need me, but you must shun me.’

The adults chatted amicably for a while about gathering for a nightcap, while the students got officially acquainted.

“Uh, Harry – Harold – Potter,” Harry said, introducing himself a little awkwardly, in the face of a Quidditch celebrity and an almost literally stunning, beautiful young woman. “You flew excellently at the World Cup, Krum.”

“Tenk you. I em Viktor Krum, et your service, but you knowink det already, I guess,” the older boy said gruffly, but not unkindly. In his thick Bulgarian accent his surname sounded a lot like ‘Kroom’.

“You are de ‘Boy Which Lift’, correct? I tink you must be sometink special, to be your school’s chempion et such a young age. Is it true you are a Parselmout?”

Krum didn’t get Harry’s title quite right, but Harry could figure out what he was trying to say and didn’t want to embarrass the other boy by commenting on that particular error.

“Uh, yes. I don’t really think I’m anything that special, though. Well, being a Parselmouth is quite a rare talent, I guess. Storm – my snake – wanted to come to dinner, but Professor McGonagall didn’t want him at the special feasts in case he scared our visitors.”

“I em not scaret of pet snakes,” Krum said, with a casual shrug. “How about you, Miss…?”

“–Fleur Delacour. No, I am not scared eizer,” she said, with a determinedly raised chin. “I ‘ave finished reading your book, Potter – ze one Lockhart wrote about your adventure with ‘im in ze Chamber of Secrets. Could I visit ze legendary Chamber while I am ‘ere, perhaps?”

Harry glanced away from her haunting blue eyes and fluttering lashes. “I’m afraid not – the Headmaster has the entrance warded to keep everyone out. It’s still quite a dangerous location with animated guard statues.”

“Well, I shall ask ‘im about it, zen,” Delacour said, not seeming put off by his refusal. “Perhaps an exception can be made.”

Harry doubted it but saw no need to argue the matter; Dumbledore could do that.

The adults went off for drinks not long after that, while the students were sent off to bed. Well, _almost_ to bed. Harry was waylaid by an excitable herd of Gryffindors the moment he set foot inside the Common Room, and the blast of noise almost knocked him backwards. There was joyous screaming, applause, and piercing whistles for their champion.

Everyone wanted to congratulate him, stuff him full of food and drinks, and hear about the first clue for the Tournament. Colin Creevey and Fred and George Weasley were all excitedly claiming credit for entering Harry into the Tournament, which at least had the redeeming value of convincing most people of Harry’s statement that he hadn’t in fact entered himself, though he did admit to sharing tips on how to get past the Age Line with the Weasleys. No-one seemed to have an idea about how his name had come out of the Goblet _twice_ , but everyone thought it was a good trick, and so hilarious that even grumpy old Moody looked like he might laugh for a moment there, before he’d gone all serious and hobbled over to talk to Dumbledore. Students down the end of the table had overheard his paranoid discussion of suspicious Dark magic influencing the Goblet of Fire, and Moody’s insistence that his help would be needed to provide more security on every aspect of the Tournament.

No-one wanted to let Harry head off early to bed to study or open his mail or sleep, and he couldn’t admit to wanting to sneak off to make Samhain offerings to his parents’ spirits – he’d have to try and do something hasty at midnight. So he succumbed to the inevitable and tried to relax and enjoy the attention and the far-too-frequent hearty backslaps and handshakes. It _was_ nice to feel so… accepted. _Everyone_ seemed so happy and proud of him, and gradually under the warmth of their approving and excited smiles Harry came to feel that despite the danger the Tournament would undoubtedly involve it might all be worth it.

Neville looked proud but worried at Harry’s selection, and Hermione insisted that she was going to help Harry study _everything_. Harry feared that she might take that promise a little too literally, but politely thanked her for now. He would need every edge he could get, being up against the best students the other two schools could offer.

“Speech! Speech!” cried the celebrating crowd of Gryffindors in the Common Room. Someone – Harry didn’t see who – hoisted him up to stand on top of a coffee table for the room to see.

Harry cleared this throat nervously, and when the room quietened down he did his best. “I’m not the smartest or the strongest student at Hogwarts,” said Harry. “There’s a lot of people who might have been better entrants than me, so I’m not really sure why the Goblet chose me.”

“Well, if it couldn’t be me, at least it’s a Gryffindor!” yelled Johnson, to a chorus of laughter and cheers.

“Better than that snake, Warrington!” agreed Jordan.

“As I’ve said already, I didn’t enter my name, but other people did it for me.”

“You’re welcome!”

“I honestly didn’t want or expect this, but I’ll try not to let you all down!” promised Harry. “I think there’s only one way I will possibly have a hope of winning this for Hogwarts, and I think it might be the very reason my name came out of the Goblet-”

The crowd was hushed and hanging on his every word, as Harry finished nervously, “-And that’s my friends. I have a _great_ bunch of friends, from many Houses, and many years. Teachers can’t help entrants with the tasks, but there’s no rule against getting help from your classmates. If everyone helps me with research and training, I think maybe I can win this. So what do you say, will you all help me and make this a win not just for me, but for _all of_ _Hogwarts?!_ ”

The whoops and cheers were deafening, as the crowd went wild. Harry was hoisted up onto the Weasley twins’ shoulders and paraded around the room like a conquering hero.

“We’re with you, Potter!”

“Durmstrang and Beauxbatons don’t stand a chance!”

“I’ll help you, Harry!”

“Gryffindor’s behind you!”

“I think I’ve got half the riddle puzzled out already!” Hermione volunteered eagerly, then laughed in surprise when Patil and Brown pounced on her with excited hugs and squeals of premature congratulations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is a little later going up today; my daughter is home sick.  
> “Quod erat demonstrandum” (or Q.E.D.) – Latin for “I rest my case.” More literally, “Which has just been shown.” Draco believes Ron has entirely proved his point about how only poor and foolish people would want to enter the Triwizard Tournament.  
> Stefan Bathory – Thanks for your help with my French accent this fic.  
> Bulgarian accent & thanks to Nhaz – You may note I have written with a different style of Bulgarian accent for Krum than that written by JKR. This is a deliberate stylistic choice to reflect the genuine accent more accurately, rather than shooting for something vaguely Russian or eastern European. While he was unavailable to review my draft, Nhaz (a Bulgarian HP fan) was a great help in consulting with me about formulating some rules for a better written accent, as well as helping brainstorm country borders for magical Europe. You can find his [excellent and informative essay on the problems with Krum’s accent here](https://iamthetruenhaz.tumblr.com/post/110612615154/viktor-krums-accent-is-totally-wrong). Any errors remain my own responsibility, but I do hope I’ve managed to portray the Bulgarian accent with more accuracy than in canon.


	7. Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> News comes of another Death Eater attack, and Hermione has a revelatory discussion with Professor Binns.

**_November 1 st 1994_ **

Harry woke up late the day after his selection as Hogwarts’ champion, and yawned his way through reading the correspondence he’d neglected the night before in favour of celebrating with his fellow Gryffindors and doing a midnight ritual for his parents’ spirits.

There was a letter from Bill Weasley, which alternately raised and crushed his hopes about a possible cure for Sirius’ damaged arm. Weasley had found the curse used on Sirius in a Dark book from the culled Black library books. He’d checked in with Sirius – without saying where he’d found the curse – and the incantation was a highly probable match. Unfortunately, the book didn’t list a cure. However, he could at least confirm that the spell was not progressive, and if not instantly fatal there should be no further ill effects. He promised that as he was in Egypt he’d consult with more local wizarding Healers and Curse Breakers when he got a chance to see if there was an unwritten cure, but so far he hadn’t had any luck. As he’d made a copy of the relevant page he’d enclosed the book to return to Harry, with the curse bookmarked. He also warned Harry to keep it hidden in case he got in trouble with the teachers for reading up on dangerous curses.

When Harry had paid the _Euro-Glyph School of Extraordinary Languages_ a pile of Galleons to magically learn French and Latin in July last year, he’d also learnt Ancient Egyptian, to help him breeze through fifth-year Ancient Runes. It would come in handy now for reading through the book himself. He eagerly read through the bookmarked curse, but it looked just as unhelpful as Bill had said. It was a curse traditionally used by priests to instantly mummify bodies, and alternatively was sometimes inscribed on sarcophagi or inside tombs to strike down tomb-raiders. There was no counter-curse listed; none was needed or wanted by the long-lost casters.

Tonks had written to Harry as well, with a few rambling anecdotes about how her Metamorphmagus powers worked. Some tips were kind of obvious; theoretically helpful but unexciting suggestions about the importance of concentration, visualisation and willpower in getting the right results. He’d read all about that in _Powers You Never Knew You Had and What to Do with them Now You've Wised Up_ , and knew it was mostly a matter of acceptance and practice. Other information was new and interesting, like how she had trouble with her centre of balance and estimating her reach due to regularly changing her height and gender; she tended to be a bit clumsy as a result. She also chatted about how one time she’d stayed in an altered form for over a year while at Hogwarts due to feeling self-conscious about her looks, and when she finally “relaxed” back into her natural form her nails were inch-long talons and her hair had grown half a foot.

Harry looked down at his hands in bemusement. Fingernails _grew_? They needed regular trimming? He _kind of_ knew they grew because if he nibbled or damaged them they’d repair themselves overnight. But… it seemed like that wasn’t what they’d _normally_ do. If he ‘relaxed’ would his nails be talons too, and his hair be a long, messy tangle? Was his face even his real face? He thought it was. He’d returned to it after using his Metamorphmagus powers before… but it hadn’t felt _relaxing_ to shift back, it had been a conscious effort.

He wrote a swift letter back to Tonks asking how she relaxed back into her normal form, and also asked how she returned back to a form she was impersonating if she took a break. He’d drop his replies off with the school owls on the way to breakfast. Egypt might be pushing it a bit for a school owl, however, so he wouldn’t reply to Bill today – he’d pay for intercontinental delivery at the Hogsmeade Post Office later. There was a nice clerk there who always gave him ten per cent off, being a bit of a Boy Who Lived fan; hopefully he’d be working when Harry next stopped by.

Ovid Mortalem, one of the fans he’d met on his book-signing tour, had sent a brief letter wishing Harry a peaceful and joyous Samhain and asking how he was doing. He was writing to Harry increasingly regularly, trying to strike up a friendly correspondence, it seemed. Trying a bit _too_ hard, Harry thought. He dashed off a polite reply wishing him a happy Samhain and letting him know about being chosen as a Tournament champion. That would hopefully satisfy his pushy fan for now.

Peregrine’s sister Flavia had sent another drawing of Storm, this one with a rainbow in the sky above him, and a sprinkling of rain from a blobby cloud falling on stick figure Quidditch players. Harry lifted Storm out of his tank and prodded him awake to admire it as he magically affixed it to the wall above his bed.

“ _She is a good artist,_ ” Storm hissed sleepily. “ _Tell her she is a favourite, and a good hatchling._ ”

Harry dutifully printed out Storm’s message and attached a plain white “Save Quidditch” badge for Flavia. He carefully wrote – in easy-to-read print – a chatty letter about how Quidditch would be on after all at Hogwarts, and how he’d been chosen as a champion even though he hadn’t entered but would be trying his best, and how he hoped she was studying all her lessons at home as best she could.

The next piece of mail of particular interest was a very small wrapped wooden box with an attached letter. He sighed in resignation. Another letter from Lord Voldemort.

_To My Gryffindor Knight, Heir of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Slytherin,_

_Thank you for your last missive which was a significant improvement on your previous correspondence._

_I am sorry to hear that Charms is currently tiresome for you, and Potions repetitive. I too found school tiresome at times when the spells being taught were beneath my abilities. With the exception of the start of my first year, when I struggled to master basic magic and concepts that young pure-bloods had already been taught at their mothers’ knees, I always found mastery of spells came swiftly. My advice is to speak flattering words to your teachers about how due to your love for their subject you are already familiar with the work being covered. Few teachers will resist a sincere request from a diligent student to be assigned more **difficult** work. If you are still concerned about standing out then ask if you may be permitted to discreetly demonstrate the required spell to a high level of proficiency in class and then after then be free to spend the remainder of the lesson reading ahead or completing homework. With such an arrangement your less observant peers will remain unaware of your skills, and your evenings may be free for your own research and practice. You are an intelligent and talented young wizard, and to be held back by a wish to not stand out from your peers is a wretched waste of your abilities._

Harry didn’t know whether he wanted to roll his eyes at _the Dark Lord_ nagging and encouraging him in his schoolwork again, or to guiltily preen under his praise. His advice seemed generally sound.

_Nagini sends her greetings in reply to Storm and wishes him good hunting. We have enclosed a treat as requested, a magical frog of a species originating from Storm’s native land. Nagini asks that you inform Storm that he can’t have her rabbits or gnomes because they are hers to hunt._

_With my sincere wishes for success in your studies, young Heir,_

_Lord Voldemort_

Harry snorted with laughter as he relayed Nagini’s message to Storm, who was worried rather than amused.

“ _She eatss creatures that big? Then, she must be larger than I. But I am ssstill the best sssnake, am I not, Harold?_ ”

“ _You are the best sssnake in the whole world, Ssstorm_ ,” Harry reassured. “ _Certainly better than Nagini._ ”

“ _You won’t let her eat me?_ ” Storm asked, coiling up Harry’s arm to drape around his neck.

“ _Never!_ ”

Storm quietly reflected on this for a moment. “ _Alright. I would like my sssnack now._ ”

“ _That’ss it? You’re not worried anymore?_ ”

“ _No, I’m not. You will protect me, as you would from Custoss. We look after each other. Sssnack, please!_ ”

Harry prised open the tiny box to reveal a small blue-skinned frog in hibernation or an enchanted slumber, nestled in the middle of a ball of damp loose wool used as packing material.

“ _Sssmell-tastess good!_ _Mine!_ ” Storm hissed happily, as Harry dangled it by a leg for his pet to swallow whole. It began twitching slightly as it slowly woke once removed from the box but was too drowsy to escape his hungry snake’s lunge.

The last letter was from Snape and continued his and Harry’s discussion of antidotes and improvements on the recipes in the textbook. His letter included some fascinating notes about modern variant recipes for the cure-all antidote potion Mithridate – later renamed Theriac. He rambled for ages about improvements on Galen’s most famous formula (which their textbook used, and Snape seemed scornful of).

… _As Pliny correctly argued, fifty-four ingredients is excessive and unnecessary. Careful selection of ingredients with Arithmantic calculations of the best quantities and stirring methods can reduce the list to thirteen or eleven ingredients, of which either dried salamander, or dragon flesh or fresh dragon’s blood, is an essential component if you wish the potion to be powerful enough to cure the Black Plague for Squibs, or to counter the most potent poisons. Medieval witches included three drops of dragon’s blood at the fifth stage of brewing Theriac, not the **fourth** , Potter, and of course only an idiot would forget to stir widdershins._

_I know you are, regretfully, not doing Arithmancy, so as a rule of thumb remember that highly magical ingredients should not be added at an even-numbered step in your brewing as that reduces their potency. You are correct that stirring can **usually** be in either direction; it depends on what properties you are trying to enhance for your potion._

It was Snape’s longest letter yet, as he included a couple of recipe variations and some bossy notes about how you _must_ include ‘poppy tears’ in any good panacea, and how only _Cretan_ carrot seeds would do for a proper Theriac, not just _any_ carrot seeds. Harry wished Snape had taught like that in school, instead of just putting instructions on the board (which didn’t always match the recipe in their textbooks and didn’t explain why Snape thought his variation was better) and yelling at anyone who got their potion wrong.

At the end of the third page Snape had squashed in a few notes on Occlumency like an apologetic afterthought, agreeing with Harry that since he’d responded well to water (and to a lesser extent to earth) in his elemental affinity tests in Ancient Runes, that a river or ocean shore or another water-based visualisation was likely to work well for clearing his mind of wandering thoughts.

Harry was enjoying the practical exercises in Ancient Runes, and magically inscribing invisible runes on seashells and glass was proving a lot easier than working with wood, marble, or obsidian. Clay worked well for him too, but the other materials were newer and thus more fun to experiment with. Everyone in the class now got homework projects tweaked to be customised to their preferred materials, which delighted everyone. Harry was working on making a mirror’s glass unbreakable, using chained runes of Haglaz and Odal, which was a standard combination for that purpose. Haglaz, the rune of hail, represented a damaging force that could also melt away into nothingness, while Odal, the rune for inherited property, was highly protective when used on possessions. The most difficult part for him wasn’t planning the runes, it was channelling his magic with sufficient precision to inscribe tiny glowing runes (without any wobbly lines) that would fade properly into invisibility without damaging the glass.

Harry worked hard on replying to all his correspondence, and while Harry was finishing up his short but polite reply to Lord Voldemort promising to consider his advice, Neville’s voice called through Harry’s closed bedcurtains. “Harry? Are you awake? Make haste, we are late for breakfast.”

Harry looked at his dad’s fob watch and cursed softly – it was later than he’d thought. “Thanks! I’m up! I’ve been doing my mail. I’ll see you down there, I have to swing by the Owlery first!”

He hurriedly changed out of his pyjamas, tossed on a black school robe, and cast a quick charm to remove the wrinkles. He unwound Storm and put him back in his tank to nap the day away and hurried through the Gryffindor common room towards the Owlery, dashing straight past people eager to greet and chat with him.

By the time he made it down to breakfast the tables were crowded, and there wasn’t a spot to sit next to Hermione, who was seated next to Ron and Thomas and was busy reading the _Daily Prophet_ and distractedly finishing off a cup of tea. Harry instead squeezed in next to where Neville was sitting with Brown and Patil.

“Good morning! Any more ideas about the first task?” Patil asked eagerly.

“Not since last night,” Harry said, with a shake of his head. “I think Hermione’s right and I’m sure it’ll be something to do with fire, though. We’re going to head to the library at lunch and after class and see what we can puzzle out with a bit of research. Pass the toast?”

“Ugh, research,” Brown said, wrinkling her nose as she handed over the toast rack. “Good luck, though!”

“Hey Brown, I was wondering… do you uh… do you know any good spells for hair and nails… like haircuts and nail trimming and stuff?” Harry asked shyly.

“Oh! Yes. Why do you ask?”

“Well, I just wanted to… look better,” Harry mumbled. “And you always look so… tidy. So I thought you might know some. Since you helped Hermione make her hair less frizzy and more curly.”

Neville winced, but Lavender Brown looked rather pleased by Harry’s awkward praise and patted her red headband (topped with tiny feathers and a gold fabric flower) that held her long, wavy brown hair in place.

“Her main problem was simply that she was brushing it too much and too furiously. Wavy or curly hair needs a gentler hand, and Parvati and I also introduced her to some excellent hair care products, though she says she’s too busy to use them every day.

“I think it is an excellent plan to pay more attention to your appearance now you are Hogwarts’ Triwizard champion. Not that you look bad at the moment, Potter,” she added reassuringly.

He shrugged and muttered his thanks.

“Also, you should consider growing your hair longer, as you will be seventeen in a few years and the Head of your House.”

“I’ll think about it,” he promised. He hated to think what Uncle Vernon would say if Harry showed up at Privet Drive with long hair in a ponytail. Mrs. Weasley’s tutting disapproval of her eldest son’s long hair would be _nothing_ compared to what Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were likely to do or say should their son or nephew show up with long hair and an earring.

“I could copy you out some of my favourite spells from _Witch Weekly_ , if you like?” Brown offered.

“I’ll help!” Patil volunteered.

“That would be great!” he said with relief.

“You are most welcome,” Brown said, echoed a moment later by Patil.

Harry started on his toast and jam but had barely eaten half a slice when he was interrupted by Patil.

“Umm, my condolences on your family loss, Potter,” she said, with a soft expression in her dark eyes.

“Thanks,” he said, surprised. “Really, I mean it. Most people don’t remember that it was at Halloween that I lost my parents. Everyone’s too busy celebrating.”

Patil and Brown exchanged an awkward look.

“Oh. I uh… Sorry,” Patil stammered. “My condolences again… I did not mean them, though of course I am sorry about that too. I did not mean direct relatives. Gossip says you are the Heir of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black… Have you not yet read the paper this morning? I’m sorry. Uh… no-one has written or spoken to you?”

Harry’s face blanched, and Neville glared angrily at Patil.

“I need a paper,” Harry said, and pushed away from the table to where Hermione was sitting. As he left, he overheard Neville hissing an angry rebuke to the girls about how Harry only received his mail in the evenings.

Hermione looked up from chatting with Ron as she saw Harry approach, and her sympathetic look had perhaps the opposite effect to what she intended for it only made him more anxious.

“Who… was it Sirius?” Harry asked, as she wordlessly passed him the paper.

There was an animated picture of a house’s damaged roof with the Dark Mark floating in the sky above it. The main headline read, “NIGHT OF HORROR! DEADLY ATTACK ON HALLOWEEN!”

“No, not him,” Hermione said, and Harry let out a shuddering breath in relief.

Harry read the article quickly, as Hermione got up from her seat and pushed him gently to sit down in her spot.

The Tonks family had been attacked. While Hogwarts had been busy choosing Triwizard champions and celebrating with a feast, masked Death Eaters had set out to kill and terrorize people.

His new acquaintance Nymphadora Tonks was fine. However, her parents weren’t so lucky. Her father Edward had been killed, and her mother Andromeda had been tortured and was in a ‘serious condition’ in St. Mungo’s.

The article had a quote from Tonks about the attack.

_“When I came home and I knew instantly something was wrong. My mother was screaming and I could hear men inside yelling at her. I sent off a Patronus message for help, but I knew my mother might be killed before backup arrived, so I had to go in.”_

_Her dark eyes were full of pain and welled up with tears at the memory of returning home to hear the sounds of her mother being tortured, gentle readers. Yet this brave new Auror barely out of her Apprenticeship was not broken by a scene that would devastate even the most stalwart and lion-hearted witches and wizards. And she had a plan so cunning that it makes one wonder that she was Sorted into Hufflepuff rather than Slytherin._

_“I knew I couldn’t take them all, even with surprise on my side. So, I had to hope that I could scare them off. I’m a Metamorphmagus, as I guess everyone knows now. When I went in, I changed my appearance to look like Dumbledore – the only wizard You-Know-Who ever truly feared. I entered firing off spells as fast as I could – I Stunned two before they knew I was there, and a couple of the other masked Death Eaters instantly Disapparated away with their unconscious allies, like the cowards they are.”_

_Auror Tonks insisted that You-Know-Who himself was there, his face in shadows, and that she scared him off with her show of force and bravado, leaving him only time to cast the Dark Mark and vow vengeance before departing with the last of his followers. I think we can forgive this overwrought young woman for mistaking Dark Lord Pettigrew for You-Know-Who, for we all know that Pettigrew is claiming his deceased former Lord’s title of Dark Lord for himself. Never fear, for this brave young woman who drove off Death Eaters and saved her mother’s life will have time off from her duties to recuperate and recover her serenity of mind._

_Minister Fudge took time out from his busy day to share these words of praise:_

_“Our brave Auror will be in consideration for an Order of Merlin for her courageous defence of her family. I would, however, like to remind the public that confronting these few dangerous criminals is a job best left to professionals such as Auror Tonks. If any members of the public sight an Azkaban escapee in Death Eater regalia, they should avoid confrontation and should contact the DMLE immediately.”_

Harry was still rereading the article when the low resonant tones of Hogwarts’ bell rang out through the Great Hall to let students know it was time for class.

“You can keep it and read it again later,” Hermione said gently, as students shuffled off to class around them, and Neville moved up to join them. “Are you alright to go to Ancient Runes? You’re cousins of some sort with the Tonks family, right?”

“Yes, uh… same degree as Narcissa and Draco, so I’d be um… second cousins with Andromeda, and second cousin once removed to Nymphadora,” Harry explained. “Nothing officially acknowledged, but that’s the family relationship.”

“Oh no, I sent her a letter this morning,” Harry moaned, as a memory struck him like a brick to the head. “Just asking questions about being a Metamorphmagus. Now I’m going to look like an _idiot_ who doesn’t have any feelings at all, sending her a letter like _that_ at a time like this!”

“I can help you write a formal letter of condolence at lunch time, if you like,” Neville offered.

Hermione nodded. “Good idea – send a second letter. You can borrow Diana to send it off. She’s very fast. You don’t even need to ask, actually, she’s happy to take extra letters any time.”

-000-

Harry struggled to concentrate all through Ancient Runes, wondering what Voldemort was up to and how the Tonks family was coping, but was consoled by Hermione’s whispered reassurance that she’d share a copy of her notes with him later if he just wanted to focus on listening to Professor Babbling. He was looking forward to the less demanding History of Magic class they had next and was planning to use that time to covertly work on his draft letter to Tonks.

However, he’d forgotten that Hermione had _plans_ for that class, and almost as soon as they’d all seated themselves at the old slanted wooden desks and set their inkwells in their holes in the desk tops Hermione’s hand was up and waving at their Professor.

“Do you know that you’ve passed on, Professor Binns? That you’re a ghost?” Hermione asked loudly. A couple of students gasped.

Professor Binns slowly turned around from the board. “What was that, Miss Grant?”

“I said, you do know you’re dead, sir?” Hermione asked bluntly, albeit with genuine concern lacing her voice. The class was dead silent, waiting for his answer.

“Well, yes, I do rather notice that when I float through the walls,” Professor Binns said dryly, and Weasley and Finnegan laughed.

“Why do you stay here? Is it fear of going to the Other World, the Summerlands? Or heaven? I’ve never heard anyone talk about your ties to family, or dramatic stories of revenge or betrayal. My research says that ghosts have either a particularly shocking death, or a strong motivation to stay on earth. I’ve been wondering what your motivation is to stay. No-one seems to know.”

The whole class looked riveted and hanging on every word – a rare change for History of Magic that hadn’t been seen since they’d questioned their teacher a couple of years ago about the Chamber of Secrets.

“I’m not staying long, Miss Grant,” Professor Binns reassured Hermione, with a soft smile. “Just until Dippet brings on a new History of Magic teacher. I’m sure it will be any week now. The poor man is so busy, but he promised to sort it out soon. I simply cannot leave my NEWT students in the lurch – I haven’t even covered the goblin rebellions yet! Until he says I can go I shall wait to enter those pearly gates. We ghosts have to obey the Head of our House you know, and at Hogwarts that’s the Headmaster.”

As he shifted as if to turn back to the blackboard Hermione stuck her hand up in the air before immediately saying, “But Professor Dumbledore is the Headmaster now.”

“Of course he is,” said Professor Binns, not seeming at all confused to be corrected. “Fine young man, Dumbledore. He makes a good Headmaster. Now, enough chatter. We were discussing…”

“But you’ve been a ghost for decades! Dumbledore is old now, and those students you’re worrying about graduated years ago!”

“Don’t be ridiculous, young lady. Now, we were discussing the giant rampage in…”

“Don’t you want to move on? They will have to find a new teacher if you do! Your students will be fine!”

“Five points from Gryffindor, Miss Grant! If you do not settle down and act like a lady I shall be forced to give you a detention, and if that is not enough I may speak to Headmaster Dippet and have an owl sent home to your parents detailing your disruptive behaviour!”

Hermione stopped trying to talk him around, cowed by his threat. She also looked extremely upset, and began letting out hiccoughing sobs, with tears started running down her face. Brown leant over to pat Hermione’s back in gentle circles and talk soothingly to her.

While Hermione had a cry and pulled herself back together, Harry took careful notes of everything Binns said that class despite their teacher’s soporific droning. Hermione had done it for him in Ancient Runes, after all. They could do a notes swap later.

Their class was full of chatter as they headed off to Charms.

Ron shook his head in wonderment. “I didn’t know he was _trapped_ here…”

“Poor Granger! Did you see her face?” Midgen whispered.

“So _that’s_ why he’s still around!”

“How do you get a ghost to leave if they don’t want to?”

“Good job, Granger. Maybe we’ll get someone new if he moves on,” Thomas said approvingly.

Brown still had a sympathetic arm around Hermione’s shoulders. “I have an ancestor – Agnes Sampson – who haunts Holyrood Palace. She says she will not leave until King James is dead – she wants vengeance for being tortured and burnt as a witch. Our family has never managed to convince her he died centuries ago. Sometimes she understands he is dead, and curses his descendants instead, but then she forgets again. She made a vow and cursed him as she was dying, you see. Most ghosts are very stubborn and set in their ways – you did your best.”

“But what can we _do_?” Hermione sniffled. “We have to help him!”

“I don’t know if there’s anything we _can_ do.”

“Maybe the Headmaster could order him to move on?” Harry suggested.

“They _do_ listen to their Head of House, sometimes,” Brown agreed. “The Sampson name died out as her descendants married into more prestigious families, so that has posed a bit of a problem for poor Agnes.”

“I blame old Headmaster Dippet,” Neville said, jaw jutting out angrily. “He should have found a replacement for Professor Binns decades ago.”

“He was _very_ old by the end of his tenure – centuries. Perhaps he forgot?” suggested Harry. “Like old people do, sometimes?”

“Dumbledore probably doesn’t even _know_ why Binns is still here,” Ron said thoughtfully.

“If he doesn’t know, I’ll make sure he learns,” Hermione vowed.

“I think you should. After all, with great power comes great responsibility,” Thomas said, and Hermione gave him a wan smile for his attempt to cheer her up.

-000-

At lunch in the library Harry’s friends split into a couple of groups. Hermione had temporarily shelved her concerns about Professor Binns and grabbed a large table for them all, which attracted a large group of friends and bystanders eager to talk about the Triwizard Tournament. She and Harry were both convinced that the answer to the first riddle was something to do with fire, since fire both danced and ate in a figurative sense but wouldn’t ‘drink’ water. Anthony and Luna were among those eager to help puzzle out the remainder of the riddle, and their table was rapidly piling up with teetering stacks of books fetched by them and other keen Ravenclaw assistants and a handful of students from the junior years in other houses, including both the Creeveys, Mafalda Prewett, and the pagan Hufflepuff Eleanor Branstone. It was a busy, chatter-filled table.

Harry meanwhile had foregone his plans to research spells and creatures associated with the element of fire in favour of sequestering himself more privately at a tiny library study desk to write condolence letters, aided by Neville, Pansy, and Draco.

Draco started out by offering Harry his condolences, but not for any family losses. “I am so sorry that you were selected as a Triwizard Tournament champion, Harry. My condolences. It is such a shame that busybodies entered you without your consent. Naturally, I stand ready to support you in making it through the challenges ahead as safely as possible.”

“Thank you, I appreciate that,” said Harry, with just as much sincerity as he’d responded to those offering congratulations, perhaps even more so.

“Keep the riff-raff off myself and Harry while he writes his letters,” Draco ordered Greg and Vincent, and the duo stood with arms folded like burly sentinels against anyone who tried to approach or bother anyone at the smaller table. With them keeping away random well-wishers, Pansy acted almost like a second line of defence – intercepting any friends who approached with what they thought were valid reasons to interrupt and talk with Draco or Harry, and only letting a few through to actually speak to them.

Mafalda Prewett was one of the few who successfully made it through their collective social blockade, with an instruction from Pansy to keep it brief.

“I just wanted to say I will keep an eye on Krum for you, Harold,” Mafalda promised, in a covert whisper. “If he puzzles out the riddle, I will let you know.”

“I think we’ll get it ourselves, but thank you,” Harry whispered back politely.

After sharing his best tips, Neville was quietly writing his own letters to the Tonks family, while Draco and Pansy kept coaching Harry through what to write to them, and to Sirius. When Neville hesitantly asked if Draco was going to write to them too, Draco seemed very torn as to what he should do.

“Perhaps. Family _should_ write, at such a time. However, they were cast out of the Black family,” Draco fretted. “The Malfoys don’t acknowledge our relationship.”

“Did old Arcturus Black make it _formal_ , though?” Pansy asked. “If not, you are still obligated to send your condolences. You should wear mourning for a month, for an uncle. Avoid bright colours, at the very least.”

“That hardly seems necessary; I never even met him.”

“I don’t _think_ it was formal,” Harry said. “Sirius said his mother just blasted a lot of people off the family tree tapestry but didn’t really have a right to do so.”

“Mother never speaks to Mrs. Tonks, though; I’m sure she won’t write to her, and father certainly won’t. She is a family pariah for marrying a Muggle-born, so I doubt we will visit her in hospital or go to her husband’s funeral. Perhaps I should limit myself to a short letter to Cousin Sirius – his relationship is acknowledged, and father says I should make an effort to present myself well to him.”

“Even if Arcturus _did_ cast her out, Sirius thinks of Andromeda and her daughter as family, and he’s the Head of the Black family now,” Harry argued, crossing out a line on his draft letter and starting again. “He probably reinstated them, if you can do that. Besides, you don’t have to do the same things as your parents. You could just write a generic condolence letter if a family letter is inappropriate.”

Neville had a very stiff, drawn expression as he said, “I think you should write to them. It is the right thing to do. Family feuds have no place at a time of grief – families should come together.”

“Black would surely think all the better of you for going against your parents in this, in fact,” Pansy said quietly.

Draco gave her a swift, searching glance. “Yes… he would, wouldn’t he?”

Neville’s lips thinned as he watched Draco start writing his own letters with a satisfied air. It was clearly the result Neville was after, but not stemming from the right motivation.

“You should not write to them unless you mean what you are saying,” Neville said, with an angry bite to his words, unable to stay silent for long. “Do you not truly care at all? Miss Tonks’ father was killed, and her mother was _tortured_.”

Draco furrowed his brow and gave Neville a defensive, cross look. “I can express regret for my uncle’s death and my aunt’s injuries whilst staying neutral in House squabbles and out of the politics around the incident. As I am not yet seventeen I have that luxury should I wish to position myself thus.”

“ _Politics_. Is that what you call it? It was _murder_ , Malfoy! Where was _your–_ ”

“Perhaps you should take a walk, Neville!” Pansy hissed.

“I think I shall,” Neville said, pushing back his chair with a loud scrape. “My apologies, Harry. I know _you_ are writing your letters for the right reason.”

“Neville…” Harry started uncertainly, but Neville waved him off.

“’Tis alright. Come and join us when you are done.” Neville pushed past Greg and stalked off to Hermione’s research table in a righteous huff.

Harry glared at Draco and Pansy. “Can’t you see he’s thinking about his own parents too? The… You-Know-Who and his followers killed and tortured Tonks’ parents. Her mother might even be in Mrs. Longbottom’s old hospital bed right this moment, never to recover. Can’t you two show some sympathy or at least _fake_ it more convincingly?!” He cast a quick spell to dry the ink on his parchment and packed up his half-finished letters.

Pansy winced. “Oh dear, I am so terribly sorry. I wasn’t thinking about the Longbottoms.”

“Well, I’m sorry to have upset Longbottom, but how am I supposed to sound genuinely grieved about someone I have never met, whom my parents practically forbid me from even speaking of? Did _you_ ever meet Edward Tonks?” Draco said accusingly.

“No, I’ve met his wife and daughter, though,” Harry said, looking down at his draft letters. They were full of a mix of genuinely sympathetic phrases and the sort of polite lies that society deemed appropriate at such a time. How he was sure Edward was a wonderful wizard and father, and how he would surely be greatly missed. He had _no idea_ what kind of man he’d been, or who would miss him apart from his immediate family. “I can still be sympathetic to his family’s loss, though, as you should be. Imagine if your father was killed, or your mother was tortured, and people… weren’t kind or sympathetic about it.”

Draco’s face went very still and pale.

“Yes, I can imagine it. Far too well,” Draco murmured, as Harry stalked away from their table in search of Neville, drawing him aside for a quiet word. Draco crumpled up his draft into a ball of parchment and started a fresh letter.

-000-

Late that evening, just before curfew, Harry sent out one final letter with a school owl. His mind had been looping all day ever since he’d been talking over the attack on the Tonks family with Neville, stuck on thoughts of what had happened to them.

Neville had cried, once they were in private. Sobbing over and over, “Why did they do it, Harry? I don’t understand!”

Harry didn’t understand either. He had only bewildered sympathy and uninformed speculation to offer. He’d shared a whispered confidence about Miss Tonks fighting against You-Know-Who, but that didn’t seem enough of an explanation – for it had been her parents who’d been targeted. He’d offered awkward hugs and a promise to pass on any information about Mrs. Tonks’ recovery that Sirius was willing to share.

He’d thought hard about who to ask, who to write to. He thought about writing to the Dark Lord directly but winced at the thought. He didn’t want manipulative justifications or lies from Lord Voldemort, nor did he want someone like Dumbledore offering sympathy and empty platitudes.

He’d written to Snape, in the end. He was well-positioned to know the truth behind the conflict, on both sides. He’d seemed open to talking honestly about the war before – perhaps he would do so again.

He’d left larger than usual margins on his letter waffling about potions theory and defence-oriented charms, as a bit of a hint. Snape, being a Master of potions and a professional spy, might also detect the faint scent of lemon on the parchment that invisible ink left when it was still quite fresh, and would hopefully remember Harry’s habit of scribbling invisible notes in the margins of his Potions textbook. Hopefully Snape would be better at spotting Harry’s hidden message than Harry had been in a similar circumstance, when he’d tragically failed to spot Lockhart’s plea for help. He still felt guilty about that and had scrutinised his letters more carefully ever since.

If Snape _did_ miss Harry’s addendum – no big deal. It was curiosity, not life and death. In the letter’s copious margins, Harry had invisibly added some cramped extra sentences, in tiny writing.

_Master Snape,_

_I wanted to ask you some private questions as an impartial source. Why did Lord Voldemort and his followers attack Mr. and Mrs. Tonks? Neville and I don’t understand._

_If it was a terror attack, it seems too private. If it was for information, why not use Veritaserum? If it was strategic, why not attack the daughter who’s an Auror? Her parents don’t even have Ministry jobs. I just don’t even understand why he and the Death Eaters kill witches and wizards in the first place when there are so few of us, really. Why are they so violent? Doesn’t Lord Voldemort see how Hogwarts is half-empty after two wars, with half the classrooms and dorm rooms closed up? How does that advance his goals? Does using too much Dark magic really make someone want to kill and torture people? Is he mad, do you think?_

_I honestly can’t understand why Lord Voldemort or his followers would torture a pure-blood woman who wasn’t working against him in any way that I know of. Was he mad at Mrs. Tonks for helping Sirius at his trial? Why kill Mr. Tonks – he wasn’t even involved in that? I can get why he ordered the werewolf attacks. It was horrible, and I hate it more than I can say, but I at least understand the politics of it. But I don’t get this random murder and torture. Aren’t there better, sneakier ways to achieve his goals? He’s not a fool, or he and his escaped followers would’ve been caught by now. Why risk capture just to openly attack the Tonks family?_

_If you can’t say I would totally understand, but if you **can** share your honest thoughts it would be greatly appreciated. I would really rather you didn’t but if you need to share the rest of the contents of this letter with someone, I would understand. It’s just questions. I’m not trying to get involved in the war here, I want to stay out of it, I’m just trying to understand what’s going on._

_Additionally, I would appreciate it if you could provide a list of some prominent skilled Seers residing in Great Britain whom I could consult about their insight into a personal matter, if it would not inconvenience you. I hear differing reports from my fellow students about Professor Trelawney’s abilities (some say she’s a charlatan, some say she’s amazing) and I don’t know her at all, so I don’t know if she’s any good or if she would be discreet or would gossip about me and my questions to a reporter._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Harold Potter, Heir Etc._

_P.S. If you’ve heard about the Tournament, it’s true, I’m in it but I really didn’t enter myself. However, I know three students who’ve admitted putting my name in for me, and I’m suspicious of a fourth student who’s staying mum on the topic. I didn’t actually want to be in this at all and I’m already hating how it’s interfering with my studies and is probably going to be really dangerous. Just about everyone’s congratulating me and assuming I’m thrilled to be in it apart from a few close friends._

Harry didn’t honestly mind if Snape showed his letter to Lord Voldemort or to Dumbledore, which was why he’d carefully omitted any reference to Miss Tonks being in the Order of the Phoenix, and had avoided outright saying if Snape was a spy, and who for. Snape had to report in _something_ occasionally. Maybe it would help him to gossip about Harry. Even if either of the two leaders saw the invisible writing it wouldn’t be the end of the world (though he expected Lord Voldemort wouldn’t be in a good mood about Harry’s questions about him). Lord Voldemort had already discussed the prophecy with Harry, though not the details. If Dumbledore found out Harry was asking questions, maybe he’d even be inclined to talk about it openly with Harry later on, if Snape led his and Dumbledore’s discussion in the right direction. Snape could be sneakily manipulative when he wanted to be. Harry was confident Snape would spot his roundabout enquiry about whom Harry could consult to learn more about the prophecy about him, since Snape was clearly under an Unbreakable Vow (or something similar) not to discuss it.

Hopefully he’d have some answers soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dusty_Old_Books – Storm and Nagini chatting, in a way! :)


	8. Weighing In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Triwizard Tournament begins with the Weighing of the Wands. Slughorn hosts a soiree. Harry slips up with one or two of his secrets.

**_November 1994_ **

In the fortnight following Halloween, Harry found that having the almost universal approval of teachers and his fellow students quickly became more wearing and less fun than he’d expected, as his free time and privacy disappeared under an onslaught of students all keen to befriend and support him. After the first week, Draco’s badge production team switched from making SQuid badges to pushing out a new range of badges for sale, which read ‘Support Harold Potter!’ in bright red luminous lettering on a yellow background. When you pushed the button it switched to alternate text which read ‘Rule Britannia!’ in glowing green on a blue background. Draco proudly explained that he’d picked the colours to appeal to members of all the Houses as a show of unity, and the second phrase was selected to be “both patriotic and friendly to Muggle-borns”. Harry didn’t have the heart to do anything but praise him, since Draco was trying so hard.

The push from friends and acquaintances for Harry to research and train up for the first task was cutting badly into his homework time, though all the help was still appreciated. Hermione seemed to positively revel in the opportunity to boss around a team of assistants eager to suss out clues to the details of the first challenge. So far, Harry, Hermione and their team of book-loving assistants had narrowed the challenge’s likely focus down to a few main possibilities: Fire Salamanders, various species of dragons, Fire Seed Bushes, and djinn.

Some seniors also whispered dark warnings about the hybrid abominations of Fire Crabs and Manticores that they’d been learning about in ‘Fear of Magical Creatures’ (as Professor Hagrid’s class was universally known by senior students).

“Hagrid must have gotten an exemption on the ban on experimental breeding of magical creatures _somehow_ ,” Peregrine warned Harry, after telling him all about the vicious baby monsters. “Using his ‘Blast-Ended Skrewts’ for the Tournament could be seen as a valid justification if the plan is that the creatures will all be slain during the competition. I am not sure the riddle’s line about ‘the unborn need me’ applies, however. We do not know if fire was involved in their birth or hatching in any way, however, it is a possibility we should not discount with undue haste. I shall ask Professor Hagrid more about them. No doubt he shall be delighted to talk all about the nasty little creatures with a touch of liquid encouragement and judicious flattery.”

Fire Salamanders were born only in magical fires and, more rarely, in volcanos. The latter wouldn’t be feasible for a challenge, but the former certainly would be. A fire that had birthed a salamander would keep on producing more salamanders until it was extinguished. Cedric Diggory was leading a mix of students from various Houses that he dubbed ‘Team Salamander’ in their research efforts, learning about how to encourage the birth of salamanders, and how to safely deal with them afterwards.

Dragons were a popular pick for people to research, and Draco swiftly established himself as the king of that group, boasting proudly about how he knew “everything there is to know about dragons”, with some justification. He pontificated about how the clue _had_ to refer to dragons, whose eggs needed the mother’s flaming breath to ensure the development of the unhatched young. He magnanimously and loudly let a lot of first-year students, Gryffindors, and assorted Muggle-borns who thought dragons were cool or ‘ace’ join his ‘Dragonologist’ table, with a pointed glance over at Hermione as he welcomed them. Harry wasn’t sure she noticed, however, as she was busy glaring at some Durmstrang students lurking amongst the library shelves whom she seemed to suspect of spying on the Hogwarts study groups.

Neville already knew quite a lot about Fire Seed Bushes, having researched them before, and was rewriting up some notes on how to deal with them, especially in regard to harvesting their fiery seeds without getting harmed, or pushing past their incandescently hot branches without injury. He was disappointed to hear Hermione’s rebuke reminding him that potions and equipment wouldn’t be allowed under the rules for the first task – only wands – and had to scrap a number of his best suggestions. The Weasley twins were helping him brainstorm creative charms that could be applied instead of the more usual fire-retardant potions and dragonhide gloves that Herbologists typically used when dealing with the bushes.

The Hogwarts library didn’t have much information on djinn, as they were found primarily in the Middle East and the library’s collection focused predominantly on European magical traditions and creatures. However, there were some brief references to them that explained their origins as being powerful ancient beings brought into existence by being shaped from fire. They could apparently be magically contained in enchanted vessels with a seal embossed with their true name and the correct magical sigil, but none of the library books gave any details about how you’d actually go about doing that. Anthony was keen to research that topic further and had attracted a small cluster of Ravenclaws eager to research the exotic beings.

Hermione and Harry teamed up with various students including Greg, Luna, and the Ravenclaw Head Boy Marcus Turner to work on the least focused but potentially most useful line of research – fire spells in general, and spells that dealt with protecting oneself from fire. Fiendfyre was a particular concern, but experimenting with casting or defending against it was judged too dangerous and they stuck to the theory only (which is all Turner had learnt despite being a seventh-year).

Every day Hermione had a new collated list of spells for Harry to try, suggested by the various study groups or her own research, and she wasn’t the only one trying to cajole Harry into endless spellcasting practice and Tournament study sessions at the expense of his free time and homework. Harry was rapidly regretting his speech calling for people to support him in the Tournament.

“Can I kill your brothers for entering me into this, Ron?” Harry pleaded pitifully one afternoon after Hermione dropped off yet another list, this one with ice and water creation spells, while Draco simultaneously delivered a five-foot essay on the Antipodean Opaleye with a level of unnecessary detail that put Hermione’s essays to shame.

“Nah, my mum never lets _me_ knock them off, no matter how annoying they are, so I reckon you aren’t allowed to either,” Ron said, leaning back in his library chair while he leisurely read up on the Swedish Short-Snout dragon.

Branstone bustled up to Harry, her long brown hair tied up in a ponytail with a House-proud bright yellow and black ribbon, which showed off her silver crescent moon earrings (which had slipped past McGonagall’s radar as not being overtly pagan enough to ban). “Potter, did you know that dragon’s blood is regarded as Dark magic when it’s applied to runes or during item creation, but is legal and acceptable when used in potions and salves? Perhaps they’ll ask you to get a blood sample and brew a potion!”

Warrington, a stocky, tall sixth-year Slytherin who was lounging nearby, shook his head in disagreement. “Leeching blood from a dragon is no easy task, but brewing potions is not dramatic enough for a challenge. They have historically focused on duels and magical creatures. Potter, have you mastered silent casting yet?”

“No.”

“You had best hurry up, then. Marchbanks is strict on that in the NEWT exams, and she is one of the judges. In addition to which, it will be a great advantage to you in duelling. _I_ can do it a little, and so can Krum. You need to be able to as well, even though you _are_ only a fourth-year.”

Harry sighed and slowly started reading through Hermione’s latest list, and obediently accepted a book about silent spellcasting that Warrington fetched for him to borrow from the library.

Ron snickered softly as he watched how Harry barely managed to read a couple of lines of notes before he was interrupted again. Millicent came over to tell Harry all about how to cast the Arrow-shooting Spell beloved of Appleby Arrows supporters, which fired arrows from the caster’s wand and which she thought might be useful for dealing with magical creatures resistant to spells from a nice safe distance.

“Conjuring arrows is banned at Quidditch matches these days, but the spell is _not_ banned for general use,” she reported eagerly.

“The money would be nice, but I’m starting to think better you than me, mate,” Ron said, shaking his head. “I knew there would be danger, but I never thought there would be so much _studying_.”

-000-

Professor Slughorn could never resist an opportunity to mingle with the crème de la crème of wizarding society, or those who _may_ fall into that category in the future… perhaps with a little bit of judicious help from himself. As such, the two-dozen visiting foreign students, all cherry-picked as the best and the brightest their schools could offer, were an irresistible temptation to network with.

With an excuse for a party of ‘fostering inter-school relations and celebrating the selection of the Triwizard champions’, Harry was invited to Slughorn’s soiree in the club room, even though he was two or three years younger than all the other invitees. There were only a tiny handful of people there Harry was familiar with, but it was enough that he didn’t feel _too_ lost and intimidated in a room full of much older students. Slughorn had invited all the exchange students plus his sixth and seventh-year Slug Club members who were from a mix of all the Houses.

Fred and George Weasley seemed to be particular pets of Slughorn’s, and Slughorn proudly introduced them around the room as, “The most ambitious and talented young Potioneers I have taught in decades, who have already secured a wealthy patron who is investing in their products with a _guaranteed_ storefront on graduation.”

Harry was glad Sirius was helping them out, even though the twins said it was causing a bit of tension between Sirius and their mother, who didn’t think a joke shop was a promising career.

“Slughorn’s a great patron, though,” Fred Weasley said enthusiastically. “He’s talking with her about it on our behalf, trying to get her to come around. He’s already convinced dad.”

His twin nodded. “He has also been chasing up someone who owes us some money. Good man. He says they’ve had some productive talks and things are looking good for repayment.”

“Well, you must excuse us, Harry, but this is a superb time to try and foster some international interest in our products. Sluggy hinted that one of the French boys – Yvon Maizière the brown-haired boy over there at the buffet table next to the dark-skinned girl in the blue headscarf – is a pure-blood from old money, whose family invests a lot in new businesses.”

“Sure, go ahead and schmooze, I’ll be fine.”

There were only a few people there, however, that Harry knew better than from a passing acquaintance in Potter Watch, and most of them seemed so busy now that he hesitated to interrupt them.

Diggory was there and had joined Hogwarts’ Head Boy Marcus Turner in the crowd of boys vying for Delacour’s attention. Harry would’ve sworn that Diggory was dating Chang. Perhaps he was, but the part-Veela’s charms might be too irresistible. At least Diggory seemed to be making less of a fool of himself than some other boys were.

Though his potions were nothing to boast about Peregrine was at the party too, thanks to his Quidditch prowess, growing connections, and a judicious gift of crystallised pineapple. He seemed caught up in a discussion with Krum and some other Quidditch enthusiasts about the various English Quidditch teams and their chances this year, and the possibility of organising a three-way interschool tournament with a few matches (odds of that seemed low, however, as it didn’t sound like enough of the exchange students played Quidditch to form a viable team). Diggory eventually got lured into a discussion of alternatives, as a fellow captain.

Slughorn noticed Harry standing on his own looking a bit awkward after the Weasleys left his side, and smoothly guided him over to meet a couple of quiet girls who sitting on some sofas in a secluded corner, avoiding the crowd.

“Harold Potter, our Hogwarts champion, may I introduce you to some of our guests from Durmstrang? This is Astrid Rosen from Sweden, in the Kalmar Union, and Idunn Torsdóttir, from Iceland, also of course in the Kalmar Union.”

“A pleasure to meet you,” Harry said, bowing automatically, before straightening up nervously with a glance at Slughorn.

Slughorn chuckled. “McGonagall’s not here to tell you off tonight, Potter, and Durmstrang and Beauxbatons are both sticklers for etiquette, though they shall all be trying to adhere to local customs while they are visiting.”

“Indeed,” Rosen said, holding out a hand for Harry to peck. “Hogwarts has been… very different. Durmstrang of course upholds many Old traditions, and Beauxbatons has a foundations subject of Deportment all students must take for the first three years, which covers etiquette and dancing and the like.” Rosen was a plump blonde girl with a round face, and her long hair was tied up in a complex knotted bun with some hair flowing out from it like a ponytail. Her accent seemed flawless to Harry, who thought she sounded like a BBC television announcer, though a bit more nervous.

“That sounds… interesting,” Harry replied thoughtfully to the blonde girl as he sat down with them. Slughorn wandered away, content to have done his duty as a host of fostering mingling and keeping his guests happy. “Hogwarts teaches Muggle Studies, but there isn’t any course teaching etiquette or other wizarding traditions. Well, unless you count Flying, which we have in first year? Does Durmstrang have a Deportment class?”

“No,” Rosen said, “but we have Citizenship for two years as one of our Foundation subjects. It teaches various Wizarding traditions, broomstick flying, law, and basic information about the government.”

“What kind of traditions? Etiquette?”

Rosen glanced awkwardly at Torsdóttir, a lean girl with a friendly smile. Her straight light-brown hair was bound up in a similar knotted-ponytail style to her friend’s. Her arms had a muscular look to them that Harry associated with Quidditch Beaters. He wondered if she played that position for Durmstrang.

Torsdóttir whispered to her, also without a notable accent, “Some Slytherin students assured me that Potter shares our faith in the Old Ways.”

“Oh!” Rosen said, sounding very relieved. “Well, the class covers etiquette, yes, but also magical theory, a bit of introductory Latin, and religious instruction. It is encouraged at Durmstrang, not suppressed like it is here in Britain.”

Harry shifted in his seat. It was a bit worrying that people were gossiping about his faith to strangers behind his back, but he guessed there wasn’t much he could do about that. “The class teaches ritual magic?”

“Not exactly, though there is a little of that as part of discussion of religious celebrations,” Rosen explained. “Ritual Magic is a completely different class, actually. Its area of study overlaps with what Hogwarts separates out into Arithmancy, Divination, and Astronomy. Though you can take Arithmancy as an elective subject in its own right from third year onwards. I have signed up for both Arithmancy and Astronomy while I am here at Hogwarts. It is a delightful opportunity to specialise in Astronomy, which is not offered at Durmstrang, and I am sure it will help improve my Potions studies, too. Professor Slughorn recommended it – he seems a most estimable teacher.”

Torsdóttir let out a soft snort and smiled. “Congratulations. You spoke for almost five minutes without mentioning potions.”

Rosen shrank back into her chair, her air of confidence lost. “I… like potions. I apologise if I bored you, Potter.”

“Sorry, Rosen,” Torsdóttir said, with a genuinely apologetic look in her eyes. “I was just teasing you.”

Rosen shrugged uncomfortably.

“I’m not at all bored by talking about potions,” Harry volunteered. “I enjoy Potions too. My godfather was a bit bewildered that I spent some of my free time in the holidays doing some brewing.”

The two of them chatted about the brewing he’d done, and Rosen overcame her discomfort and clearly was in her conversational comfort zone talking about what was her favourite subject, despite the apparently lacklustre Potions class at Durmstrang where their over-cautious teacher didn’t let them brew any potions with any element of risk until their senior years, and even then made her class repeat brewing potions multiple times until they perfected them.

“It is not _bad_ as such,” Rosen said, sighing, “but it is so _slow_ and those who are ready to progress must still repeat dull potions over and over again. Professor Slughorn has covered so many potions already! _And_ he gives his best students permission to brew personal projects unsupervised outside of class hours!” Her eyes gleamed with excitement.

“You should talk to the Weasley twins some time,” Harry suggested. “Fred and George Weasley – they look identical and have bright red hair, you can’t miss them. They’re in sixth year, but I think Slughorn might be right in boasting that they’re our best Potioneers at Hogwarts.” He waved vaguely in their direction across the room, which was really all that was needed. They stood out a mile off, both due to their appearance and their gregarious nature – all loud boasts and laughter as they entertained a small crowd with a display of their latest creation, a Canary Cream which when eaten temporary transformed the recipient into a bird.

“Dear Merlin, look at that!” Rosen said. “Full human transfiguration! Was that from a biscuit? Not even a draught?”

“Yup, and they invented them, too. Only seven Sickles each, while they’re still testing their prototypes. Sometimes there’s a few feathers that don’t come off, but Madam Pomfrey can fix you up easily if that happens.”

“Go and talk to them,” Torsdóttir encouraged, giving Rosen an encouraging nudge with an elbow.

“Without an introduction?” Rosen fretted, twisting her hands into anxious knots.

“You can introduce her, I’m sure,” Torsdóttir said, turning to Harry. “In return, I would be happy to introduce you to Ericksen. He’d be happy to talk to you about your unguent for vampires that you mentioned brewing, as he is a great proponent of vampire rights. He’s been looking forward to meeting you, actually.”

“Uh, sure. I would be happy to introduce you, Rosen. Astrid, wasn’t it?”

“That’s right. Pure-blood, of course, if you are including blood status in your introduction. I understand it’s not usually the done thing at Hogwarts.”

“Not counting the link to the Muggle van Rosen family,” Torsdóttir teased.

Rosen shrugged uncomfortably. “That was so many generations ago you know it does not count. Besides, they were nobility, not just common riff raff.”

“You are ashamed of having Muggle ancestors?” Harry asked, a little stiffly.

Rosen sighed. “Not proud, but not ashamed, either. More embarrassed that everyone always tells the story of how my many-times great-grandfather cast spells to make everyone think the castle he’d inherited had burnt down just because he didn’t want to be visited by his annoying Muggle relatives who were trying to pressure him into marrying some noblewoman he didn’t fancy.”

Torsdóttir grinned and nodded. “We shared a dormitory until sixth year when we got our own private rooms, and whenever Astrid got too caught up in studying or just didn’t want to talk to anyone, Mayer would always say, ‘Don’t disturb her, or she’ll burn down the dormitory. She’s a Rosen, you know!’ Everyone knew the story from first year. The Rosen family is infamous for that.”

“Mayer?”

“Johanna Mayer – a friend of mine from the Holy Roman Empire. She’s one of us four girls from Durmstrang. We’re sadly outnumbered by the boys – there’s seven of them. Ridiculous, given how women are usually magically stronger,” Torsdóttir said, with a dismissive snort, “but that’s Karkaroff for you. Sexist pig.”

“What’s with the names? Like Kalmar Union? Holy Roman Empire?” Harry asked.

“I’ll tell you after you go introduce Rosen to those twins before she loses her nerve.”

“Idunn!” Rosen whined.

“It’s true, though. She gets nervous about meeting new people. It’s why I’ve been over here keeping her company. She’s almost as bad as Krum.”

“Viktor Krum?” Harry said, glancing around the room and seeing the dour Quidditch star still surrounded by an eager, attentive crowd. “He looks fine.”

Torsdóttir shrugged. “He’ll do his duty and talk to people, but he hates it. Given the opportunity he would rather hide in a corner with a book.”

“I always end up saying something stupid and boring people,” Rosen mumbled. “Maybe I could talk to them later.”

“Go!” Torsdóttir insisted, with a laugh, and Rosen got up obediently.

Harry led Rosen over to the twins, politely tucking her hand into the crook of his arm like he was her escort for the party. “Don’t worry, they’re quite nice, if a bit inclined to tease. Just ask them about their potions, and they’ll do all the talking for you.”

The introductions went smoothly, if less formally than Rosen perhaps would’ve liked, and Harry left her listening raptly to their excited sales pitch about their prank potions business.

As Harry stepped away from the group Torsdóttir rejoined him and led him towards a tall fit young man with long blonde hair tied back in a ponytail, and the wispy beginnings of a moustache and beard. He was busy flirting with one of the Beauxbatons girls, who was giggling and toying with her hair. Harry suddenly felt very young in comparison.

“I don’t want to interrupt…” Harry said awkwardly, backing off a little.

“Hmm, yes. Maybe in a minute,” Torsdóttir said, with a light laugh. “Ericksen wouldn’t thank me for interrupting him right now.”

“So, uh… are there really only three magical schools in all of Europe?” Harry asked.

“Only three that count. There’s also a large school in Russia of course, and some children from eastern Europe go there. There are also a few smaller, less prestigious schools scattered around - day schools for locals, mostly. I’ve heard there’s one in Rome that’s not too bad if you can stomach all the religion, but they say it only covers half the subjects that Durmstrang does.

“A lot of families home-school, too, but my family obviously is well-off enough to cover the fees, and the mandatory language acquisition. There’s only a small population of witches and wizards in Iceland, so we all tend to go to Durmstrang – it’s that or home-schooling.”

“You speak English really well,” Harry said. “I guess your native language is uh, Icelandic? What language do they teach in at Durmstrang?” She spoke just like a Londoner, in fact, and without the overly formal grammar and scattering of archaic words that characterised a lot of British wizards’ speech. He would've sworn she was born and raised in Peckham, if he didn't know better.

“Well, you have to be at least bilingual to attend as teachers instruct in either German or Norwegian; the seiðrsdialekt of Norsk, to be precise, so I took some potions for both of those. They weren’t cheap, especially the latter, obviously! I also know Old West Norse which is very handy for Ritual Magic and Ancient Runes, as well as reading old sagas. My mother paid for an English potion for the trip over here, of course, which makes five languages in total including Icelandic.”

“I paid for some potions to be fluent in French, Latin, and Ancient Egyptian,” Harry volunteered. “I studied a little Spanish ages ago, but I’m very rusty and can’t really do much more in that than say hello and count up to ten.”

Torsdóttir nodded in obvious approval. “Latin and Ancient Egyptian?! Nice! That must have cost you a lot of Galleons. Good to see you don’t have any qualms about the language potions being unethical.”

“What?” Harry asked, a bit bewildered.

“Like Krum, and a lot of the Beauxbatons students. Terrible accents, don’t you think? They all fuss about ‘natural’ learning being the only right way to do things.” She shook her head disapprovingly. “Terrible waste of time, if you ask me. I learnt Old West Norse the hard way and though it’s similar to Icelandic it was still a lot of work – I think potions are much better if you can afford them.”

“Well, not everyone can,” Harry said diplomatically.

“Krum certainly could, if he wanted to. Say, you asked earlier about the Kalmar Union?”

“Uh, yes?”

“Well, I’d rather make it quick – I don’t want to spend all night at a party in a corner giving a geography lesson. No offence. I was just staying with Rosen so she wasn’t all on her own.”

Harry nodded understandingly. “None taken. The short version is fine. We don’t learn magical geography at Hogwarts – or at least, I haven’t learnt it _yet_ – so even the basics would be helpful.”

“Right. So, the short version is that the magical population of Scandinavia isolated itself in the fourteenth century and decided pretty quickly to ignore how the Muggles were constantly changing their countries’ borders and names. So we stuck with _Kalmarunionen_ – the Kalmar Union – as a good name to show solidarity. A show of unified strength to preserve our borders against the witches and wizards in the Holy Roman Empire to the south, and Russia to the east which was quite expansionist at that time. We formed an alliance of witches and wizards in Iceland, Greenland, Denmark, Norway, Sweden, and parts of Finland and Estonia, with a governing council and regional administrators.”

“That’s a couple of centuries before the International Statute of Secrecy,” Harry mused. “Of course, that statute was formalising something that had been the status quo for quite a while, really, wasn’t it?”

“True. We were already heading towards an isolationist stance, but it was the Black Death that really pushed things along, I think. For example, Norway lost two-thirds of its Muggle population, and almost all of its Christian priests. There was an especially big push to isolate ourselves from the disease-ridden Muggles, even though we didn’t catch their plague. So there were a lot of land grabs, and a resurgence of the old faith on the mainland.”

“They’re not _disease-ridden_ ,” Harry said irritably, “and it wasn’t right to steal their lands.”

“They get sick more than we do. They have weak constitutions,” Torsdóttir said, frowning.

“We catch many of the same illnesses they do, and there’s only a handful of illnesses that don’t overlap. Muggles can’t catch dragon pox or spattergroit, for instance.”

“We would be even healthier than them if people didn’t keep breeding with them and polluting the purity of our blood-”

“You’re a _blood purist_?!” Harry hissed angrily. “Having magical talent doesn’t make us _better_ , just different!”

“You’re _not_ a blood purist?! How can the Heir of Slytherin – a Parselmouth – _not_ be a blood purist?” she quietly hissed back. “I’m not going to judge you for your ancestry – you can’t help what your ancestors did – but surely you can’t support mixing with Muggles any more than is strictly necessary?”

“My heritage doesn’t have to make me a bigot! Look at Grindelwald, look at Voldemort – my own damn parents murdered – look at all the people they killed and the suffering they brought, and ask me again why I don’t like talk of blood purism!”

Harry glowered at her.

Her lips thinned and she gave him a curt nod.

“Alright. Your parents. I grant you that. Those Lords’ methods were… excessive. Damaging to our own people. But the overarching goal of preserving our ways and putting ourselves in a stronger position to deal with Muggles-”

“Well sure, but it is no excuse at all for mass murder,” Harry whispered back.

“It doesn’t excuse _everything_ , but it’s understandable! _They kill us too!_ Every time they’ve found us, they’ve slaughtered us! The Statute’s there for a reason!”

“That hasn’t happened for centuries!”

“Yes it has! It’s happening even now, or they’re trying, at least! Why do you think every government has people to _deal with_ dangerous Muggles! Laws to stop every idiot witch and wizard from showing off magic to them? They are a _threat_ and anyone who’s not a total troll-brain knows that!”

“There’s a difference between Obliviating someone – like the Ministry does – and advocating bloody mass murder! There’s like six billion people in the world! We have to live together, even if you don’t like it!”

“We have to live _separately_!” she cried, looking flabbergasted.

“Look, I agree on that-”

“Good!” she said, sounding relieved.

“-but I can’t and _won’t_ support murder as part of that!”

“You already do!”

Harry’s face blanched. _What does she know? Has someone talked about my truce with Lord Voldemort? Who?_

“What?” he said. “No, I don’t!”

Lie with confidence, Draco always said. Getting caught in admissions was Harry’s weak point and he knew it, but he was working on it. Deny, and be consistent in your denials even when challenged.

“Two words,” Torsdóttir said, with soft intensity. “ _Hit. Wizards_. They’re part of your own government. If you support your own Ministry you’re _already_ accepting that sometimes Muggle threats need to be dealt with. Permanently. When someone kidnaps or kills one of our people or creatures, or threatens to expose us.”

“They… they’re just specialist Aurors,” Harry said uncertainly. “They’re just more highly trained. To deal with dangerous criminals. They don’t kill-”

“You tell yourself whatever you need to, to sleep at night,” she interrupted, leaning in close as she whispered intensely. “ _You know Muggles are a threat_. Think about it. What they’d do to us. What they’ve already done, over and over! If they knew-”

A tall blond wizard pushed his way in between them, muscling in to grab and shake Harry’s hand, ‘incidentally’ turning Harry away from Torsdóttir as he clapped his other hand on Harry’s right shoulder. It was the young man with the wispy beard that Torsdóttir had been planning to introduce Harry to.

“Mr. Potter, I do so hope you don’t mind me interrupting your conversation to introduce myself!” the young wizard said, in an overly cheerful tone. “Do excuse us, Miss Torsdóttir – I believe Bahnsen and Mayer were looking for you.”

His very serious stare at her seemed at odds with his cheerful voice. Both Torsdóttir and Harry could figure out the unspoken message there.

“Yes, do excuse me,” Torsdóttir said stiffly. “Perhaps we can resume our conversation later, with calmer spirits. I am sure we still have some common ground.” She gave a short bow and stalked off.

Harry turned to his saviour with a sigh of relief, bowing politely. “Thank you, uh…”

“Bjørn Ericksen, of the Sacred House of Ericksen, as you say in Britain, right? Pure-blood, but not from a ‘Noble’ family, and we don’t trace our line back to the Romans. We’re proudly Norwegian for many, many centuries! It is berserker blood we claim for our family. My name means bear, you know! It’s a very old family name.” He had a pronounced Scandinavian accent but spoke English very fluently.

Harry’s face fell. “So, you’re a blood purist too.”

“Don’t mind Torsdóttir,” the man said, shaking his head. “She’s usually a very friendly soul, and she’d never harm anyone outside of a formal duel of magic or staves. Did she insult your family?”

“Not exactly. Well, a bit. She just… she said lots of stuff about blood purity.”

“Well, I don’t mind that you’re a half-blood,” Ericksen said, clapping a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “You are a Parselmouth! That is very special! You should transfer to Durmstrang, like my aunt wrote to you. Do you remember her letter? I think they don’t appreciate your talents properly here. I heard you could not even bring your snake to the party tonight in case people were frightened – such a shame!” He tutted in disapproval.

“I like it here, and I’m not a blood purist,” Harry said defensively. “Even Salazar wasn’t exactly one either, you know. Not _completely_. He just wanted to protect the students from Muggle attacks. He didn’t mind some Muggle-born students so long as their families weren’t going to panic or gossip and pose a risk to Hogwarts – that’s what he was worried about. Not the students themselves.” Harry clenched his fists.

“Hey, easy now,” Ericksen said, softly but sternly. “I am not your enemy unless you choose to make me into one. I was trying to help you, interrupting Torsdóttir. It looked rather… heated. In a bad way. Would you rather I left you alone, now?”

“Sorry,” Harry said, hunching as he apologised. “No, it’s okay. It’s just… she seemed so friendly, and we still ending up arguing. I guess I just wanted to know… if we’d end up fighting too.”

“Do you think all vampires, giants, trolls, and hags should be killed? Werewolves killed or chained up with silver?”

“No! None of that!”

“Good. Should people all be forced to follow one religion?”

“No, definitely not.”

“Do you think we should allow Muggles to know all about magic, for nothing could possibly go wrong because we are all good people deep down and no-one would hurt each other once the truth is out?”

“…No. I don’t think it would go at all well.”

Ericksen clapped him on the shoulder again, making Harry stagger and hunch up from the unexpected blow.

“Then that is good enough for me! You have an open heart to Dark creatures, but you are no fool. We shall be friends, and you may call me Bjørn if you wish.” He smiled charmingly at Harry, momentarily reminding Harry a little of Lockhart.

“Oh. Uh, I appreciate the offer, but let me think about that, I don’t know you very well yet. Perhaps at a future date when we’re better acquainted.”

Ericksen beamed happily at him. “Fair enough, Potter. Let us get acquainted then. Now, tell me all about being a Parselmouth! It is such a rare Dark talent! You are truly blessed by Magic.”

Harry sighed. This was going to be a long night. He looked wistfully over at the cheerful group of Beauxbatons students and settled in for another talk about why-I’m-not-Dark. Eventually to his relief they shifted to a less touchy topic and had a pleasant enough talk about vampires (who were permitted to attend Durmstrang if they were young and needed to study).

With a promise to Ericksen to introduce Storm to him as soon as he could, Harry was then free to mingle elsewhere and chatted in French with a couple of the Beauxbatons students including a dark-skinned young witch whose French-speaking family lived in Senegal. However, despite his best intentions he only got to chat to the other two Triwizard champions very briefly (since they were so busy mingling) before the party grew too late and Slughorn jovially sent them on their ways with promises of more Slug Club parties to come.

-000-

On a Friday afternoon in mid-November, Professor Slughorn obligingly let Harry leave Potions early to attend the Weighing of the Wands ceremony for the Triwizard Tournament.

Rita Skeeter had tried to drag Harry away from the other champions prior to the ceremony, but a frosty, “Excuse _me_ , madam!” as she tried to grab his arm had put a quick stop to that, and her injured feelings were soon soothed by Harry’s promise of an interview after the ceremony had finished.

After the champions’ wands had been demonstrated to Mr. Ollivander’s satisfaction as not being in any way defective (which could have proved highly dangerous in a life-threatening tournament), the judges and other officials lingered to chat with each other and the school principals. Skeeter had a perfunctory handful of questions for the foreign champions, after which she, Harry, and her _Daily Prophet_ photographer went to an adjoining classroom for a more in-depth interview.

Rita spread out her magenta robes as she sat decorously on one of the old wooden chairs and extracted an acid-green quill from her scaly handbag. She sucked on the tip of the quill for a moment, before setting it to float above the parchment laid on an adjacent desk. In bright green ink it scratched out what seemed like Skeeter’s thoughts and opinions rather than what she was actually saying or hearing.

“Shall we get started?” Skeeter asked eagerly, pushing up her jewelled spectacles with a manicured crimson-nailed hand as she leant forwards.

“How does the quill work?” Harry asked, watching with fascination as it wrote down his words as well as a description of him as being a ‘handsome young man in silver-rimmed spectacles, with his tidy fringe concealing the disfiguring mark of his tragic loss’. It didn’t appear too fussed about perfect accuracy for its quotations, as it amended Harry’s recent question to refer to itself as a ‘marvellous enchanted emerald quill’.

“My Quick-Quotes Quill is perfectly legal,” Skeeter said defensively. “It is attuned and activated by saliva, not blood.”

Skeeter swiftly moved the conversation along with a few quick starting questions about how Harry felt about the Tournament (very nervous but determined to do his best) and why he’d entered (he didn’t but some friends had entered his name for him, and he’d try to live up to their faith in him).

“Now, Mr. Potter, can you tell me if you remember your parents at all? How do you think they’d feel if they knew you were competing in the Triwizard Tournament?”

 _Interesting question_. “Well, I can’t be sure of course, because I barely remember them. But, from what people have told me my dad was a risk-taker, and a very brave man. I think he would have been proud and excited. I think my mum would have worried a lot more, maybe nagging me to study hard to help me get through the tasks. Muggle schools don’t have the dangerous sports and competitions that the wizarding world does, so I think it would have been scarier for her, being Muggle-raised. The level of risk that’s regarded as acceptable here is pretty daunting for newcomers.”

Skeeter smiled encouragingly at him, and Harry caught a glimpse of a couple of gold teeth as she did so.

“Ah, your parents were quite the forbidden romance, weren’t they? The pure-blood heir who won the reluctant heart of the feisty Muggle-born!” Rita said, pressing a palm to her chest as she let out a melodramatic sigh. Her acid-green quill kept busily scratching out notes for her in the background. “What young witch have you set _your_ pining heart on, Mr. Potter?”

Harry cleared his throat awkwardly. “No-one, Miss Skeeter. And uh, just so you know, technically, my mother was a half-blood.”

The reporter gasped excitedly. “Really?!”

“Uh, yes. My maternal grandmother, Heather Evans nee Parkinson, was a pure-blood Squib, though I don’t believe she ever told her children about her background. Grandma Heather had two magically talented parents, so I believe that makes my mum a half-blood since she had magical grandparents. You can confirm it with the Parkinson family if you like,” Harry added helpfully, as Skeeter hung on his every word with bated breath. “Our family relationship is formally acknowledged and there’s a properly researched family tree.”

Harry glanced over at Skeeter’s notes and caught a glimpse of her quill jotting down phrases like ‘lonely young Heir’, ‘scandalous family secret’, and ‘shocking revelation’.

_Hmm. I’d probably better encourage her more to talk with the Parkinsons to help her get a more well-rounded take on things, or she’ll drag them over the coals._

“Before you leave Hogwarts you might like to talk to my cousin, Pansy Parkinson, in Slytherin. She’s a good friend of mine as well as one of my closest relatives in the wizarding world,” Harry volunteered. “The Sacred House of Parkinson has been very kind and welcoming to me, including gifting me with Storm, my pet rainbow serpent.”

Leaning over for another peek at her notes, he spotted ‘welcomed into the bosom of this proud Slytherin family’ and nodded approvingly. _Much better_.

-000-

On Sunday morning before the Potter Watch meetings were due to start, Hermione’s attention at breakfast was as usual divided between her toast and her copy of the _Daily Prophet_.

“It seems you’re seen as quite the eligible young bachelor, Harry. Skeeter’s article got the front page, and she’s gone to some effort to point out you’re the Heir to ‘at least two wealthy Houses’, and that your children – of which she seems to assume you would have many – would be counted as pure-blood if you married the ‘right sort’ of witch. There’s a five-generation family tree on page two, with your ‘closest relatives’ the Black, Parkinson, and Malfoy families on it. Oh, and a teaser of ‘more shocking revelations’ to come. They left off your aunt and her family entirely, which is pretty typical for the tone of the paper lately,” Hermione added, tutting disapprovingly. “It’s increasingly anti-Muggle with her as their main feature writer instead of Smudgely.”

Harry sighed. “Well, I did my best. You should have seen her draft notes! It could have been so much worse. I guess I’d better brace for more mail. Can I borrow your owl this evening?”

“Like I told you, any time. Are you looking forward to Potter Watch? It’s the Incarcerous charm and silent spellcasting today!” Hermione said excitedly.

“I guess. Turner – you remember him, our Head Boy from Ravenclaw – volunteered to take over teaching the Middle group so I can focus just on being a student in the Senior group, and spend more time preparing for the first task. But I guess I’m going to miss working with my friends.”

“You’ve still got me in the Senior group,” Hermione comforted. She’d tested out of the Middle group since she knew most of the spells they’d be covering, but despite that she actually still went to _all_ of the meetings – even the Junior group ones – when she wasn’t too busy panicking about an assignment due on Monday. She said it was all good practice.

“And Draco’s there too,” Harry added, “but I think I’m going to miss everyone else.”

“You need not quit the Middle group just because Turner thinks you should,” Neville encouraged. “It is entirely up to you. You will still see me and all your other friends at other times, however, so you should not fret about that.”

“Thanks, Neville. Well, I don’t exactly _want_ to, but I think it’s a wise decision. My study time is so miniscule right now, I need every spare hour I can get. I really wish I had a Time-Turner this year too,” he said, with a wistful sigh.

His Slytherin friends had completely different takes on the Potter Watch situation, and they weren’t united in their opinions. Pansy had fretted about Harry giving up control of the group (even on a temporary basis), and the potential loss of status from not being in charge. Draco on the other hand had argued in favour of Turner’s offer to take over, saying that delegation was part of being a patron and that Harry giving the impression that Hogwarts’ Head Boy was at his beck and call only _enhanced_ his reputation. That it would allow Harry to focus on the Tournament he thought was just a bonus. The others mostly just thought that leading a group was a lot of work for very little benefit, and that it should be Harry’s call as to whether it was worth it.

“Say, did you hear that some of the exchange students wanted to join our Senior group?” Harry said. “Peregrine turned them down though, with some polite excuse. Some of them are making up their own Duelling club, instead. What he’s actually worried about is that they might spy on how my spellcasting is going. That it might give the other schools’ champions an edge in the Tournament.”

His friends looked thoughtful.

“It could be a legitimate risk, or it could be typical Slytherin paranoia and over-thinking things,” Neville said. “It feels rather ungracious of us not to properly welcome our guests to Hogwarts, however.”

“I think it’s a good call, on the whole,” Hermione mused. “They might try to spy on us. I ran into Krum again in the library while I was busy studying on my own in a quiet corner. I think he was trying to hide from some fans! He asked what I was reading and tried to start up a conversation about new charms I’d been learning. But I just wanted to read my book so I told him I wasn’t going to discuss _anything_ remotely related to the Tournament and to come back when he had something intelligent to say about the issue of house-elf enslavement or the origins of the various magical humanoid races. He looked shocked and just slunk off.”

Harry found Potter Watch rather trying that day. He had the knack of the Incarcerous Spell well enough – it just needed more practice. However, silent spellcasting was another story and Harry found it impossible to get even the slightest response from the simplest charms. Still, only a very few sixth and seventh-years could do it at all, so he tried to keep that in mind and not to feel too down about his utter lack of success. Everyone watching him (and a few people badgering him to try harder) didn’t help his equanimity about his failure, though.

It was in a very distracted state of mind that Harry collected Storm and some books from his dorm room and snuck off to the boys’ bathroom on the Fourth Floor near the library, ignoring passers-by calling out friendly greetings and affirming their belief he’d win the Tournament for Hogwarts. Harry wasn’t in the mood to chat – he was headed straight for the secret entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. Surely Ambrosius – Merlin – would have a few good tips about silent spellcasting. He also wanted to have a bit of privacy to look through his book on Ancient Egyptian curses again, so see if there was anything in there that might help Sirius.

Harry locked himself in one of the toilet cubicles, and hissed at a tiny carved snake to open the secret entrance. The back wall of the cubicle – which looked like solid stone blocks – sank into the ground without so much as a whisper of sound. A very sensible enchantment, Harry thought, to prevent anyone overhearing anything unusual. Harry squeezed past the toilet into the space revealed behind it and headed down the spiral staircase. Carved snakes hissed their welcomes to him as he passed them.

“ _Greeetings Ssscion!_ ”

“ _Welcome back, young master!_ ”

Harry put Storm down in the main Chamber when they reached it. It was looking much nicer after his work with restorative spells. He’d cleaned up the decorative pool last year, and the water was, if not crystal clean, at least no worse than the Black Lake. Storm was having fun exploring a little underwater tunnel out to the lake, which was how the occasional fish strayed in now that Harry had cleared out some bits of rubble that had been blocking things.

The stonework walls were now clean thanks to some masonry-specific cleaning charms Harry had researched over the summer, and the enchanted blocks that glowed with a soft radiance were even brighter after their cleaning (and a judicious top-up of magic and a smear of saliva in lieu of blood had helped too), making the whole room less gloomy. The stone serpents that spiralled around the many pillars in the room had appreciated having their delicate carved scales clearly revealed from beneath the former layers of grime and dust, and had been even more thrilled to see Harry cast some cleaning and strengthening charms on Salazar’s imposing statue.

Downstairs through another secret passage (Salazar sure did love those), Harry added a loaf of bread and a sealed pot of raw honey to his single ‘fridge’ shelf low on the bookcase he’d added last year to Salazar Slytherin’s old study, where he kept a few emergency snacks. Honey would keep for _years_ if needed – centuries, even. Bill Weasley had gossiped in a letter about how explorers had even found honey in Egyptian tombs that was still edible despite being three thousand years old. The bread should hopefully keep for a couple of weeks, thanks to the charms he was about to set up.

Harry spent some time carving a set of Younger Futhark runes on the bottom shelf so he wouldn’t need to reapply the cooling charms so often: Bjarkan for freshness, Ur in murkstave to inhibit mould growth, and Is for the preserving and cooling power of ice. They were all chained to Ar as the base rune, which represented bountiful, healthy crops and would ensure the spells focused on the food placed on the shelf. He’d found the rune set in a library book, _Practical Household Magic_ , one of Hogwarts’ more recent texts. It was basically instructions on how to make your own magical equivalent of a very simple fridge.

He cut a little nick with a sharp potions knife on one of his fingers and smeared some blood onto the runes and sealed them with a touch of magic from his wand as he cast a Cooling Charm to link into the rune set. The blood, he was interested to note, disappeared as the spell was cast and the runes sank into invisibility. When he used the Revealing Charm the invisible runes glittered more brightly than any of those he’d previously created with saliva or with magic alone. Ever since Snape had insisted over summer that blood would empower runes more strongly than the other options, he’d been a little curious to find out the truth of the matter for himself, and certainly no-one would be spying on him down in Salazar’s old quarters in the Chamber of Secrets. It looked like it was true. He nodded in satisfaction at the results of his test. He didn’t want to go mucking about with blood magic willy-nilly (especially since the Ministry had long since banned it), but it was good to scientifically conclude that it _could_ be effective. The book instructions had called for saliva but substituting in blood had yielded the good results as he’d expected.

“ _Greetings, young Heir! It is good to sssee you again!_ ” the tiny snake carving hissed from Salazar’s scroll-storage shelf. It was practically empty – Harry didn’t really have anything to store in there. Last year he’d kept some of his homework scrolls in there, but this year his visits were too infrequent to warrant leaving any half-finished homework behind. He did still have a few spare rolls of blank parchment in the shelving, plus some extra ink and quills on the desk and a pile of blankets and pillows in the bedchamber, but not much else was stored down here right now.

“ _Your casting went well, I sssee_ ,” it continued, with an approving note to its sibilant hisses. “ _Let me taste your blood and you may passs within._ ”

Harry let the little snake bite him as usual, in what passed a millennium ago as an unbeatable identification check, and after a quick Episkey headed inside to chat to Merlin.

He tapped politely at the edge of the mosaic to wake up its inhabitant. “Greetings Ambrosius, it is the afternoon of Sunday the thirteenth of November, nineteen ninety-four.”

“Ah, hello again!” Ambrosius said, waking up and giving his back a stretch. “It has been almost a couple of weeks since I saw you last, then. You have been busy preparing for the Triwizard Tournament, I suppose?”

“Exhaustingly so, and I have so many people wanting to help me out that it’s been hard to get a moment to myself. Sorry I haven’t been able to visit much lately.”

“It’s quite alright,” Ambrosius promised.

They chatted for a while about Harry’s studies and his swarms of research helpers for the Tournament.

“I don’t suppose you have some good tips for mastering silent spellcasting?” Harry asked optimistically.

“I usually said my incantations aloud,” Ambrosius admitted. “Speech is one of the components that adds power to one’s magic; it is a powerful tool for focusing and channelling your intention. Yet, it is not essential, and if others can cast spells silently with their wands alone, there is no logical reason you cannot do the same. I can only advise you to remember that you must always focus. Waving your wand and hoping is not the same thing as mastering your magic. You said that your delightfully-named friend Peregrine started you with Wingardium Leviosa?”

“Yes.”

“Did you _want_ to make things float?”

“Well, of course. I wanted to succeed. It was pretty embarrassing that I couldn’t make a feather even twitch.”

Ambrosius shook his head. “Not enough. You must focus more on the goal of the spell itself, and less on your _feelings_ about the spell or your companions.”

“Oh! Like resisting the Imperius Curse!” Harry said eagerly. He explained how he’d progressed in throwing off the forbidden curse.

“Precisely!” Ambrosius agreed. “Well done. Yes, apply that same determination to other areas of your spellcasting, and you should see great improvements. Perhaps try the exercise I suggested where you attempt to summon your wand to your hand, too.”

“That’s wandless magic, not silent magic.”

“It is an application of the same principle, however.”

“I’ll try it, then. When I get a moment in private. Which I _haven’t_ had for _weeks_ ,” Harry grumbled.

They also talked about the sad attack on the Tonks family, which Ambrosius agreed was unconscionable.

“I heard back from Miss Tonks with some more tips about being a Metamorphmagus – she wrote to me just before the attack,” Harry said. “She said when she turns back to her natural form it feels relaxing – which it never does for me – and if she’s been shapeshifted for a long time her hair and nails have grown.”

“Yes, returning to your natural form should always be freeing. There should be no tension left.”

Harry frowned. “I’m… I’m thinking that maybe I’m not _ever_ in my natural form. Because uh… my nails and hair don’t actually change. Unless I nibble my nails and then they grow back overnight. I haven’t actually had my hair cut in years. I think the last one was about when I was nine years old.”

“Hmm! Your hair should certainly be longer, then. Do you want to try relaxing into your natural form? With enough focus on your goal it should be simple enough – it should come easily to you.”

“Well… yes. But… I’m a bit scared. Like, what if I look really different? Or I can’t change back? I learnt some hair-trimming and nail-cutting charms from Brown, since I figured I’m likely to look kind of crazily unkempt.”

At Ambrosius’ puzzled look Harry explained, “She’s a girl in Gryffindor, one of Hermione’s friends. She’s one of those girly-girls who like to look pretty with headbands and nail polish and stuff. She’s from a wizarding family so she knows heaps of cosmetic charms.”

“A ‘pure-blood’ as you say these days?”

Harry shrugged uncomfortably. “I’m trying not to introduce people with their blood status. Professor McGonagall said… well, she pointed out that things like that are a bad habit. I don’t want to act like a bigot or accidentally offend any Muggle-borns, so I’ve been trying to pay more attention to that stuff. It’s hard though, and I keep slipping up.”

“I did tire of being whispered about as being a cambion, back in my day. That was from the mort… Muggles, however. Most wizards and witches merely admired my skill, once it was proven. Power is more important than family.

“So, are you ready to try shifting?”

Harry sighed. “I suppose so. That was one of the things I wanted to do down here, where no-one will see me. I even brought a recent photo of myself… just in case I need to study it. And a mirror I made in Ancient Runes.”

Taking off his shoes and socks in case of catastrophic toenail growth, Harry sat stiffly on the chair as he concentrated. First, he spent a minute shifting his hair to something curly, and then he focused on the feeling of letting the shift go and relaxing back into his usual form… and then relaxing _more_. Letting go of all his own expectations of what he was supposed to look like, and of his care about maintaining his appearance to meet the demands and expectations of others. Breathing in and out, and letting his body relax into bonelessness.

There was a tingling feeling on his scalp, and Harry tried not to startle as he felt a scratching sensation on his hands as they twitched – his fingernails were definitely growing. He let it all go, focusing his mind on the peaceful waves of a deserted ocean shore and relaxing _everything_.

“That should do it, I think,” Ambrosius said in a satisfied tone, and Harry’s eyes snapped open.

“Do I… do I look different?” Harry pleaded.

“Not in essentials, I think,” Ambrosius said thoughtfully, and Harry huffed in relief. “You will need to tidy up of course, but you look otherwise much unchanged.”

Harry looked down at his hands, where his nails were so crazily long they’d curled into surprisingly heavy twisted weights on his hands. “A manicure first, I think, so I can actually hold things properly.”

The first of Lavender Brown’s charms that Harry tried was a variant of the Severing Charm – the base charm of which Harry was very proficient at – and it worked a treat. Harry’s fingernails and toenails were magically snipped to a tidy length. He even tried out a couple of extra charms – one to file the edges of your nails smooth, and another to lightly buff the surface of the nails to a gentle shine.

“Aren’t you going to look in your mirror?’ Ambrosius asked expectantly.

“In a minute,” Harry said, not wanting to admit he was stalling.

He patted behind his head and found a long mass of hair which reached down to his waist in a mess of tangles. He pulled a hank over his shoulder and sighed with relief. Still black.

He cast a de-tangling charm on the clump of hair he’d drawn forward, and it took a few tries to get right, but it worked eventually to fix the worst knots so he could brush it properly until his hair fell into long, straight lines. He did the rest of his head, then gritted his teeth and got out a mirror.

He sighed with relief. He was still himself. Same eyes, same nose, same scar… everything. His dark hair was long and straight with only a slight wave to it – and not at all the uncontrollable short mess he remembered from his childhood – but other than that everything seemed the same. He pulled his hair forward with one hand and cast a hair-trimming charm to even up the ends. It didn’t go too well, and he lost a little length trying it a couple of times until he’d mastered it. He decided not to experiment with any of the more intricate hair-dressing charms, lest he accidentally cut off an ear or make a dog’s breakfast of his hair. It wouldn’t do any harm to leave it fairly long for now.

“Anything different, do you think?” Ambrosius asked.

Harry took stock, poking at his face and pulling faces in the mirror, then patting himself down and looking at his arms and legs.

“Apart from the obvious hair length? I think my teeth are whiter,” he mused, “but it’s hard to tell for sure? I don’t look at my teeth that closely.”

Pulling up his sleeves he noticed a shiny smooth patch of scar tissue on his right forearm that he’d never seen before. “Oh. I remember… I think I know what this is from. When I was six… maybe seven? I burnt breakfast, and Aunt Petunia hit me with the frying pan – right here. It burnt my arm, and it got black and blistered and it hurt _so much_. I think I might have wished it away overnight because the next morning I felt fine. I guess I didn’t so much heal it as _hide_ it away. Well, maybe hide it _and_ heal it.”

He checked his body for other scars or differences, but there was nothing else obviously different.

“Do you think my skin’s a little paler? I think I might’ve lost some of my tan.”

Rummaging in his satchel, Harry got out his photo of himself for comparison. Yup, his skin was a little lighter. He glanced over at Ambrosius to get his opinion and saw the wizard standing with his hands clasped behind his back, and a stony expression on his face.

“What?” Harry asked nervously, checking the mirror again. Good, he still looked fine. He checked his teeth, too – also fine.

“Your aunt… beats you with hot metal pans? Until your skin chars?”

 _Oh_. Harry tried to remember if he’d ever talked about the Dursleys with Ambrosius. Obviously not _that_ much.

“Just the once,” he reassured. “And not for _years_ – we get along _much_ better now. And it was only hot just that one time – I think she forgot it was hot because she honestly looked so shocked.”

“It was not hot the other times she swung at you?” Ambrosius asked carefully.

“No, of course not! She didn’t actually want to hurt me, I don’t think she meant to. It was just a warning – I should’ve ducked away like I usually did. Then I wouldn’t have gotten burnt.”

Ambrosius’ face still looked worryingly fierce.

“It doesn’t happen anymore,” Harry reassured. “I know it’s not right, now I’m older. She doesn’t even fake-attack me now, I swear. We get along… well, it’s fine.”

“And your uncle and cousin?”

“Fine. It’s _fine_ ,” Harry insisted, wincing as a memory welled up again of Snape talking about how everything was always ‘fine’ with his family too.

“Dudley and I get along great and Uncle Vernon… well, it’s not great, but we’re alright so long as everything’s normal. They don’t _hurt_ me. We got along fi… very _peacefully_ during summer. Dudley even came to a picnic at the Weasleys’ house – he’s alright with magic.”

Maybe the diet Petunia had put them all on over summer hadn’t been great, but he’d packed his own food so that had been bearable, right? And despite his uncle’s threats Storm had been safe in the end even though Harry couldn’t keep him at Privet Drive. The incident with thinking his guard Fletcher was an invisible Death Eater, however, and his family wanting Harry to go off to face him alone… even Harry had to admit it wasn’t great. Alright, not everything was fine. He knew that, even though he hated to think about it. It wasn’t fine, and _it had never been fine_. But it was _better_ , it was bearable, and that was enough, wasn’t it?

“No family is perfect, and I only have to see them a few weeks a year, anyway.”

Ambrosius stared at Harry’s troubled, strained face, and Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“This is why your family never trained you in magic. This is why you never speak of them, except of your cousin and his continuing demands to help him with his studies despite your own burdens. They are petty, spiteful mortals who dislike magic and mistreat you.”

Harry closed his eyes as he took a slow, deep breath and let it out again, letting his troubled emotions wash away with an image of cerulean waves lapping at a sandy beach shore. “Yeah. That’s basically it, I guess. Though, it’s much better than it was when I was a child… things weren’t great then. I’ve got my own room, clothes… I have all the basics now. They do alright. They might not be the best carers, and they shouldn’t… they’ve done some things wrong, even recently. They weren’t right in what they’ve done, and I’ll certainly do things differently if _I_ ever have kids one day. But they try.”

“Do they love and care for you like you were their own son, as one should for a fosterling?” Ambrosius asked gently.

Helpless tears welled up in Harry’s eyes, and his throat felt like it was seizing up, like his emotions were choking him.

“No, but I think they do the best they know how,” Harry said weakly. “It was like asking a family of dogs to raise a duck. It was – _is_ – hard for them, raising someone who isn’t normal. They don’t like magic, you see, and wizards haven’t usually been kind to them, so it’s understandable they’re scared of it. Once I learnt how to be more normal and could suppress my accidental magic, things got better. I’ve figured out how to get along with them.”

“They shouldn’t have hurt you like that,” Ambrosius said gravely. “Not for any reason. It is not like you were guilty of murder or treason! A burnt breakfast, of all things!”

“I know, really I do,” Harry said, scrubbing at his teary face with a sleeve. “It wasn’t fair. Or right.”

“Wanting you to suppress your magic… they should have _encouraged_ it! Been _awed_ by it! You need to find a new family to care for you,” Ambrosius pronounced sternly.

“…Maybe I do. Sirius has offered to adopt me,” Harry said, with a sniffle. “I’m thinking about it. He’s not perfect either, but he’s trying really hard to act like a good guardian, which I think counts for a lot, right? Because I think he might actually care about me and want me to be happy, and that’s… really nice. I’m not sure, though.”

They talked for a while about Harry’s concerns about the blood wards on Privet Drive and Ambrosius wheedled out a few more details about Harry’s life with the Dursleys and got angry again when he heard about Harry’s cupboard. Ambrosius demandingly pushed for details of Sirius and Lupin’s behaviour over the summer while Harry had stayed with them, and also insisted on discussing other potential adoptive parents, like Pansy’s family and the Malfoys. They even talked briefly about Snape, whom Ambrosius thought showed a good level of care for Harry, but Ambrosius conceded he should probably be ruled out due to his explicitly expressed disinterest in caring for children and dubious connections to Lord Voldemort. Sirius certainly seemed to be the prime contender for the spot of a new guardian for Harry in Ambrosius’ eyes due to his explicit offer of a home, willingness to formally adopt him, and his nomination of Harry as his Heir.

“Take the time to consider your options,” Ambrosius advised. “You have some months yet before the next summer.”

Feeling emotionally exhausted Harry determinedly put a stop to the discussion of his personal life after that, and they spent most of the remainder of the visit discussing the curse that had withered Sirius’ wand arm to a mummy-like state. Harry read out Latin translations of descriptions and incantations of various Ancient Egyptian curses in the book he’d brought with him. Harry also carefully told Ambrosius the incantations in Ancient Egyptian, with his wand set aside for safety’s sake, when the old wizard expressed curiosity about a few of them.

“Any ideas on a cure?” Harry asked optimistically, after over an hour had gone by and his voice was getting croaky from non-stop reading aloud.

“No, I’m afraid not,” Ambrosius said, “but I shall give it the matter serious thought.”

“Thank you.”

Before Harry left, Ambrosius did some last-minute follow-up nagging. “Any progress on researching the prophecy made about you?”

“Yes and no. I’ve asked around about our Divination teacher, and opinions are mixed as to her skill. Hermione’s been particularly severe and says she _never_ gets any predictions right and is a fraud. I’ve written to Professor Snape and asked him to recommend some Seers – I should hopefully hear back from him soon as it’s been a while since I wrote to him.”

Harry said his farewells and exited the Chamber, collecting Storm on his way out. Storm hissed happily about catching a fish in the lake and nagged to be taken to dinner that evening.

“ _If the young Clever-men from far away already know about me, I shall not ssscare them,_ ” Storm insisted logically. “ _In any case, if they **do** fear me they can just hide, and you may let them know I shall not hunt them down or dry-ssstrike at them even though they are in my territory. I want to meet my new admirerss you told me about_.”

Leaving the Chamber of Secrets via the boys’ bathroom, Harry flushed the unused toilet – just in case anyone else was in the bathroom to see him emerging from the cubicle – and exited the bathroom after washing his hands. Outside in the hallway he passed Draco, who was sitting on the cold flagstones reading a book.

Draco glanced up with a pleased smile as he saw Harry emerge, and rose to his feet immediately, tucking his book away in his bag. “There you are, I have been waiting for you.”

“Oh, were we supposed to meet up?” Harry asked carefully.

“No, I simply wanted to talk to you. I’ve been waiting–”

Draco cut himself off abruptly as someone walked past, then resumed speaking after the boy had moved on, but more quietly.

“–waiting right here for over three hours.”

“Really?” Harry said, with studied casualness. “You must have missed me then, wrapped up in your book. I’ve been in the library for ages. This was my second trip to the bathroom this afternoon. You should’ve looked for me in the library.”

Draco looked impressed. “Oh, splendid! You _are_ getting better at this, and a good expression too, well done. That excuse would suffice for someone who knows you less well than I. Or who was less secure in the reliability of their observations of everyone’s comings and goings. I haven’t moved an inch for hours, however, so I _know_ I didn’t miss you going back and forth.”

“Alright… you caught me. I actually fell asleep on the toilet,” Harry said, affecting an embarrassed expression. “Don’t tell anyone! I was up past midnight studying. It’s taking its toll!”

“Good, always keep denying!” Draco said with patronising approval, patting Harry on the shoulder. Storm raised his head to look curiously at Draco, then sank back onto Harry’s shoulder sleepily. “Now, what will you do since I very clearly do not believe your secondary excuse either?”

Harry sighed. “Well bribery and Obliviation are out, so as a _friend_ I will have to hope you will leave well enough alone and understand that I don’t want to admit to anything. I’m hoping you’ll understand it would be to your advantage and mine to keep your mouth shut about a hypothetical secret I don’t want you to spread. Even to your father, or our friends. I want your word on that.”

Draco nodded. “You have my word as a Malfoy, my tongue is tied,” he promised, gesturing in the air with his empty hand towards his mouth like he was waving his wand in the motion used for the Silencing Charm. “I shall share this secret with no-one. I just wanted to know for sure where you were.”

Harry rolled his eyes at him and gave a wry smile. “You already guessed where I was. Hours ago.”

Draco grinned back at him and puffed his chest out proudly. “Yes. Yes, I did. It is only fair there is an entrance suited for boys as well as girls.”

“Don’t trade this secret away, Draco,” Harry warned, “not to anyone. Not to your dad, or your mum… not even to any portraits. Neville’s the only other one who knows about it. I _need_ this way in, I don’t want the Headmaster warding this one too. I will be _so_ mad if you gossip about this to anyone else. _Seriously_.”

“I swear I shall not, Heir,” Draco swore, bowing to Harry, “on the Malfoy family honour.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry mumbled. “Thanks, but c’mon, cut that out before someone sees you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> iafaS – Thanks for encouraging me to ponder Binns’ situation.  
> Arvi and GalacticHalfling, Trichsa, Iron_Dragon_Maiden, icebluecyanide, and Ashild – Thanks for your character and name suggestions for Mayer, Rosen, Maizière, Ericksen, and Torsdóttir respectively.  
> Magical Europe - I have a sufficiently complicated headcanon for this that I drew a map. See also other images for the fic here: http://members.optusnet.com.au/~pelari/potter.htm


	9. Getting a Clue!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Storm makes some new friends, Harry juggles his schooling and correspondence commitments, and he gains a new clue about the first task.

**_November 1994_ **

On Wednesday, Harry caught Professor McGonagall at the start of their class before lunch and got her permission to bring Storm to dinners in the Great Hall again, with wheedling assurances that the foreign students wanted to meet Storm, and that Harry would make sure he wouldn’t threaten anyone in any way.

After a determined and flawless demonstration of proficiency, he also got her permission to skip the lesson on transfiguring guinea fowls into guinea pigs (a relatively easy cross-species switch due to the Arithmantically similar names). Instead of repetitively practising what he secretly considered a completely useless spell, he got permission to work on the Vanishing Spell, a fifth-year Transfiguration spell several senior students had recommended as being potentially useful for the Tournament.

Hermione’s hand shot up eagerly. “Can I test out too, Professor? I could partner with Harry!”

No other interested students apart from Hermione passed McGonagall’s impromptu test and managed to produce guinea pigs without at least a couple of feathers remaining amidst their fur. So, it was just Hermione and Harry in a corner working on vanishing loose feathers, as their professor wasn’t game yet to let them try vanishing even simple animals like snails.

“It gets too messy,” their teacher explained, “if you only vanish part of an animal with Evanesco. You do have to go to lunch afterwards, after all, and you would not want your appetites ruined.”

Harry was certain his appetite was robust enough to withstand the sight of half a snail but out loud agreed amicably and with profuse thanks for her consideration.

McGonagall smiled benevolently at him. “We all know you are anxious about getting ahead for the Tournament, Potter. Flitwick says he has given you a pass for his class to work on any charms you need to focus on. So it would ill behove me to deny you the same opportunity in _my_ class. So long as you keep up to date with class work and stay focused on Transfiguration, that is.”

Professor Flitwick had been eager to see Harry – his top Charms student – push forward even more with his studies. He spoke enthusiastically (if squeakily) about looking forward to seeing him ‘live up to his true potential’ in the Tournament and reminisced about how Harry had cast a fantastic Incendio in first year against the rampaging troll.

Having finished their studies of the Summoning and Banishing Charms (which many students had mastered the year before in Potter Watch), the Gryffindor Charms class was now forging ahead and working on mastering the Scouring Charm. However, Harry – and he alone – was granted permission to attempt to cast Summoning and Wand-Lighting Charms either non-verbally or wandlessly. Progress was slow, and Harry got a bit dispirited when despite his most focused and determined efforts he couldn’t manage more than making his wand roll over when trying to summon it wandlessly but with the incantation (progress which Flitwick was nonetheless exuberant about) and couldn’t cast non-verbal spells at _all_. Harry also practiced the Flame-Freezing Charm a lot on a candle (especially when he needed a break from persistently failing at non-verbal casting), as evidence suggested it may be very handy for the first task so it was a priority spell to master.

Not all his teachers were so flexible, however. Pruning Flutterby bushes seemed unlikely to help him in the Tournament, and Professor Moody was following in Professor Sprout’s footsteps and was also sticking with his planned curriculum. However, Moody did after a little wheedling from Harry agree to write Harry some library passes for Defence books from the Restricted Section. Neville and Hermione stuck around to help keep a wary eye on their surely-cursed teacher when Harry met with him after class and agreed that their teacher’s smile when he’d agreed to Harry’s request had been ‘creepy’.

In Care of Magical Creatures Harry was – just like everyone else – working on learning about Winged Horses – the Abraxans that had come from France in particular. The Slytherin students still needled their teacher occasionally, ‘sweetly’ asking if he would _demonstrate_ the Hoof-Cleaning Charm they’d read about. Hagrid continued to be flustered about it, and Harry joined Hermione when she lingered one afternoon to encourage their teacher to get his conviction for opening the Chamber of Secrets overturned, and his wand rights restored.

However, Hagrid shook his large shaggy head sadly. “It’s not that easy. It’s not ‘cause I went to Azkaban that I lost me wand. It’s ‘cause I was expelled an’ never finished school.”

“Oh. Well… you could take on an Apprentice?” Hermione suggested. “Someone to study the practical stuff with you, and to demonstrate the charms in class? Or, you could self-study to get the minimum number of OWLs? The other teachers would surely help you.”

“Reckon I can’t take an Apprentice when I’m not a Master,” rumbled Hagrid. “But I’ll have a think about doin’ somethin’ about me OWLs. Thanks fer thinkin’ about it, I appreciate yer help.”

He shook her hand gingerly in thanks, his massive paw of a hand engulfing her comparatively tiny one.

Harry took Storm down to dinner with him for the first time in weeks, which greatly pleased his pet who insisted it had been “forever”.

The Gryffindors greeted his snake’s return with their accustomed equanimity borne of a couple of years’ exposure to him at dinners and in the Common Room, but some other students were more startled or delighted. Millicent was quick to pop over to the Gryffindor table to coo a greeting and praise for Harry to translate, accompanied by Pansy. Pansy was back to being notably loud and proud of being Harry’s cousin, which Harry didn’t mind but which seemed to be irritating Hermione. After Millicent and Pansy’s visit broke the ice some of the exchange students decided it would be fine for them to visit too.

A handful of Durmstrang students came over first. The big, blond boy Ericksen led the way, and just managed to get out a cheerful greeting before the others joined them.

Ericksen was swiftly followed by a male student with light-brown hair, plus Krum, and the two female students from Durmstrang that Harry hadn’t met yet.

Ericksen did the honours of introducing the newcomers, albeit with only _some_ of the usual formality that Harry was used to from pure-bloods. The words were formal but abbreviated, and the bows left out entirely. “Mr. Harold Potter, of the Houses of Slytherin, Black, and Potter, may I introduce you to Mr. Bahnsen,” he said, gesturing at the new boy, “Miss Mayer, and Miss Caldaras. Mr. Krum you already know, of course.”

Bahnsen nodded briefly as he was introduced, but the Krum and the two girls stood stiff and still like someone had warned them not to bow or curtsey in public, but they weren’t sure what to replace the courtesy with. Mayer was a skinny, pale girl with her dark-brown hair in a plait, while Caldaras was a brown-skinned girl who let her long, jet-black hair flow free around her shoulders.

“A pleasure to meet you,” Harry said politely. “I would be curious to know where you’re all from. Also, I’d like to introduce you to Storm, he is a rainbow serpent or ‘Wonambi’ who was born in Australia, whom I’m guessing you might like to meet. _Bow, Ssstorm_.”

Storm bobbed his head obediently in greeting at Harry’s hissed command.

Mayer said in perfect English, “I’m from Germany, from the Harz mountains – a wizarding village near the Brocken, to be precise. Is your snake safe to hold? Is he venomous? He’s very beautiful.”

“He’s safe to hold so long as you don’t squeeze or scare him. He’s a constrictor – not venomous – though he does have sharp teeth. You can pass him around, if you like.”

Harry held Storm out to Ericksen first, since he’d gotten to the table fastest, and was already reaching out with eager hands to pat at Storm’s tail. “ _Behave Ssstorm, these are new admirers for you to impresss_.”

“ _Good. Tell them I accept giftss of tasty creatures. Not too big_.”

Harry smiled, and translated Storm’s soft hisses, adding, “He didn’t explain it, but he means nothing wider than around three inches – he can’t unhinge his jaw and might choke. He also prefers eating magical creatures or their eggs, if you ever want to bribe him into being friends. But he only eats a couple of times a week unless he’s being greedy. He won’t really be hungry for anything bigger than a bug for another day or two.”

“I am from se island of Föhr,” Bahnsen said, with a strong German accent. “It is a small island in se Nort Sea wery close to se German coast. My father runs a senctuary for Otterbanches, and my mother has a fishink bisness. I am et Durmstrank on a scholarschip, like Krum.”

“Otterbanches?” Hermione asked curiously.

“A rare megical creature wis green skin end blinkink red eyes. They used to live in se hills, but Muggles have forgotten to respect them, especially since we started hidink them due to se International Statute of Secrezee. Farmink has driven them from seir traditional homelands.”

Harry semi-formally introduced Hermione and Neville to their visitors.

“I hope I cen come to your next H.E.L.P. meetink?” Krum asked Hermione, shaking her hand. “I em very interestet in megical creatures, includink de welfare of house-elfs.”

Hermione blinked. “Oh! Well… yes, then you would be most welcome.”

Storm was carefully passed around the visitors who all seemed comfortable with him, though some were more eager and fearless than others. The wariest Durmstrang students were watching the interactions from way over at the safety of the Slytherin table.

“Caldaras and I are the top students in ‘Magical Creatures’ at Durmstrang,” Ericksen boasted. “A five-foot snake is nothing compared to a field trip to see Jötunn.”

“Ericksen was the best last year, but I did better on my OWLs,” Caldaras said. “I am Elena Caldaras, from Transylvania. My family currently lives in a wizarding-only village in Hoia Baciu forest near Cluj. So tell me, what powers do rainbow serpents possess?”

“Storm can summon lightning, and swim through the earth. Well, he swims in water, too – he’s semi-aquatic and a great swimmer; I don’t know if you’d count that as a power, however. Oh, and he can conjure up mist and rain. Just a very tiny, localised raincloud, or a moderately harmful electrical strike.”

“Swim through the earth? Can he go straight through solid rock like Draugar? Can he turn into mist?” Ericksen asked curiously.

“Eww. He’s not undead! He’s a sweetheart, yes, who’s the prettiest snake in the world? It’s you! You are just like a rainbow, yes you are! Don’t mind the silly wizard,” Mayer cooed.

Harry hissed some translations for Storm, who was most gratified at the babble of praise.

“Storm thinks you are very smart, Mayer. He wants you all to know that as he’s still quite young, he will be stronger with his powers when he is grown, and able to kill and eat even dangerous animals like bunyips or drop bears.”

 _And humans_ , Harry added mentally. Storm had also boasted that his lightning would be fatal when he was grown, instead of just leaving scars like it had on Sirius (something Storm was still a bit disappointed by, even though he didn’t mind Sirius on a personal level).

“Five-foot-long and he’s still a baby?” Ericksen said, letting out a low whistle.

“He is getting close to two years old, but he’s still got his baby scales around his neck,” Harry said, pointing out the band of pearly scales with a faint rainbow shimmer. “He’ll grow a mane of long dorsal scales there when he’s an adult; almost like hair. He’s been getting darker brown across his body every time he sheds though – still with his rainbows of course – rather than the light grey-brown of a hatchling. He’s like a child or teenager snake, now. Wonambi – rainbow serpents – can grow _much_ bigger and are very long-lived. They grow quickly for their first year or so, then continue to grow their whole lives at a variable rate which some Clever-men – native Australian wizards – speculate is dependent on how magical their environment and diet is.”

“Fascinating!” Caldaras said.

“I agree! So… you’re from Transylvania? Isn’t that part of Romania?” Harry asked Caldaras.

Caldaras shook her head, with a tired and slightly irritated look. “No, unfortunately that is only for the Muggles. There was a secession led by vampire lords a long time ago. Romanian wizards and witches are _still_ furious about it, mind you. Officially we don’t recognise Transylvania as its own independent magical nation, but it is what it is so I introduce myself as being from Transylvania. For now.”

Harry tried to remember if he’d ever seen the girl out and about during the daytime. He’d never paid that much attention to what the Durmstrang students did during the day – he only knew that they had some lessons shared with Hogwarts students, and some on their own. “ _Ssstorm, does thiss girl sssmell-taste like a vampire? All cold and sssnake-like?_ ”

“ _No,_ ” Storm replied. “ _She sssmell-tastess like you and the other humans, and a bit like flowers. I like her. She thinkss I am beautiful._ ”

“So, do vampires really–” Hermione started to ask.

“I don’t answer questions about vampires,” Caldaras interrupted, sounding increasingly irritated as she crossed her arms.

Ron, sitting nearby, suddenly paled, freckles standing out more sharply. “Are _you_ a va–”

“ _No_ I am not a vampire, and no you may _not_ check my teeth to be sure!” Caldaras said loudly. “While I am covering all the usual stupid questions: _yes_ I am Roma and I am _proud_ of that, _no_ I will not tell you your fortune, and _no_ you may not call me a gypsy or a țigani or anything else insulting. _Yes_ , I’m pure-blood _and_ an Orthodox Christian, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about tradition – I care about my peoples’ traditions a _lot_. Clear?!”

There was a chorus of apologies from the Gryffindors, even from some of those who hadn’t even spoken to her. And a few muttering people who were at least keeping their less charitable thoughts quiet.

“Sorry! That’s perfectly clear! And good for you!” Hermione said, in approving tones that won her a small smile from Caldaras. “I promise I won’t bother you again. You’re welcome to come along to our Bible Study group if you like.”

“I may do that, thank you.”

Harry nodded. “I’m sorry too, I apologise if I offended you.”

“Sorry,” Ron mumbled. “I guess it was a dumb question.”

“Caldaras…” Ericksen said, giving her a rebuking look.

She sniffed. “Yes, yes, I know. I am just tired of answering the same bigoted questions over and over. I am going to make up calling cards to hand out with all the answers on them.”

The Durmstrang students headed back to the Slytherin table after that rather awkward end to their visit. Harry noticed that Cho Chang stopped Caldaras as she passed close by her spot at the Ravenclaw table, to shake her hand and chat to her.

The French students’ visit was marked by Ron and Neville’s babbling attempts to impress Delacour (totally ignored), an unaccented complaint from a French boy named Laurent Durand who’d been jealous Harry got to keep a snake at Hogwarts and _he’d_ had to leave his pet bat at home in Lutèce, and a couple of startled shrieks from the girls when Storm tried to ‘kiss’ someone’s hand with his snout and a girl panicked and thought Storm was going to bite her. Harry rattled off a quick apologetic explanation in French but was perhaps a little too late as they’d already attracted attention from the staff table.

“ _Mr Potter!_ ” McGonagall said, striding over with a stern look. “Did we not discuss that you and your pet must be on your most _exemplary_ behaviour if you wish to bring him to meals?”

“He was kissing her hand, not _biting_ it,” Harry pleaded. “I explained it to them, it’s all alright now, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is fine, isn’t it Dubois?” Delacour said, encouraging the startled – but totally unbitten – student to back her up. “Potter ‘as explained zat it was just a trick ‘e taught ‘is snake. Zere is no ‘arm done, and ‘is snake is very good educated.”

“Yes, I was frightened, but ‘is snake did not try to bite me,” Dubois agreed.

With several witnesses earnestly averring no harm was done, Storm was allowed to remain at the table and McGonagall left in the end without taking points from Gryffindor, to their House’s relief. 

-000-

Harry’s burden of correspondence didn’t stop just because he needed more time to study. In fact, it was overwhelmingly worse ever since the news about him being selected as a Hogwarts champion had come out in the _Daily Prophet_. When he’d complained to his friends about it Pansy had been the biggest practical help. She’d written to her family, and her parents had sent him a gift set of enchanted Triplicate Quills. If you laid out multiple sheets of parchment next to each other and set out three inkpots in matching positions, what you wrote with one quill would be precisely duplicated by two others hovering in the air and scratching out words on their own. It was much better than the Gemino duplication charm, because that only made _temporary_ copies of an object, which would disappear after a while and was thus no good for answering fan mail.

A lot of fans got identical replies with only the name at the start being different, or maybe an extra line or two added at the end. A handful of letters required more specialised attention, such as replying to those who were _upset_ with Harry for being chosen as the Hogwarts champion over other older possible competitors and called him a glory-hog. There weren’t a lot of those, thankfully, and of course Harry’s owl ward caught any Howlers before they reached him.

Tonks had written back thanking him for his letter of condolence and letting him know that her mother was out of hospital now and recovering well.

Percy had written again, including a careful warning that he couldn’t discuss any details of the Triwizard Tournament tasks. However, he did gossip about the topic in general, sharing that he had been sworn to secrecy about the Tournament – on his honour, not by magic – and had thus had to talk about duller side projects like cauldron bottoms all summer. Percy vented about how frustrating it had been when his brothers teased him.

Their friendship was growing slowly but steadily with a trickle of letters back and forth, which Harry liked. Harry sometimes got the impression from Percy’s work-focused but increasingly rambling letters that Percy didn’t have a lot of friends to confide in about his troubles and triumphs.

Apparently, Mr. Crouch had been originally slated to be one of _five_ Tournament judges including the Heads of each of the schools, but after Crouch’s untimely death Percy had been judged insufficiently experienced and unbiased to be permitted to act as a judge in his place.

… _It certainly seemed initially to be quite the social blow to be so dismissed, however, it afforded an opportunity for me to push through some changes for the Tournament which – with some support – were wildly successful and have advanced my reputation as a ‘go getter’ in the Ministry._

_For if I was to be considered too biased due to my being a recent Hogwarts graduate, how much more biased would the schools’ Headmasters and Headmistress prove to be? Ludo Bagman is the only remaining original planned judge, while Mr. Scamander and Professor Marchbanks were added at my instigation as being impartially fair and highly knowledgeable judges. They were both eager to assist and have also been instrumental in bringing about some changes to the Triwizard tasks that everyone agrees should result in a superior Tournament. It has been quite the professional coup for me and has pleased almost everyone!_

_Those who dislike Professor Dumbledore were happy to see him ‘snubbed’ by being cut as a potentially biased judge, while those who favour him were delighted to hear that I’d consulted with him about the new judges and gained his whole-hearted support for my initiative. Some sensible individuals of course simply generally supported my logic of selecting the most impartial judges possible_.

_Thank you for asking after my father; he has recovered as much as is possible and is doing well. I have passed along your recommendation for Muggle ‘physiotherapy’. He sends his best wishes to you for luck in the Tournament and he and mother urge you to be careful and stay safe. Currently father is working on some house repairs he’d been meaning to get around to for some time, and I am assisting him some evenings. William, Charles and I are supporting our family with a portion of our incomes, and our mother has plans to look around for a job or other source of income now she has an ‘empty nest’ with no children living at home all year except for myself. She claims she has wanted to return to the workforce for some time, and no-one contradicts her… at least not in front of father._

_I am saving up as much money as I can to help pay for my siblings’ Hogwarts fees, however, it is difficult. Even the highest Ministry jobs do not pay as much as you might imagine, as there is an unwritten expectation that such positions should be held by independently wealthy individuals who take on their roles out of a heartfelt wish to work for the betterment of society and will thus be theoretically immune to the lure of bribes. Admittedly an imperfect system but the Ministry as a whole functions well._ ”

Next was a letter from Dudley complaining about how Harry hadn’t sent through any tips helping him with a Business Studies assignment, and begrudgingly thanking Harry for his study notes for Biology, which he eventually admitted had helped a lot. Dudley also relayed that his parents wanted to know Harry’s plans for Christmas as they were planning to go overseas, then gossiped about how his mum was researching their family tree.

_I think she’s worried there’s more wizards in the family that she never knew about, not that she’s admitting it. She just insists there certainly aren’t and I shouldn’t worry about it._

Harry wrote back explaining about how he’d been super busy studying for the Triwizard Tournament.

_It’s like a super-dangerous interschool competition that has killer magical animals and magical duelling instead of just playing cricket matches like any sensible school._

He also wrote defensively about how friends had entered him without telling him, and now he had to represent his school even though he was technically underage for the competition.

He included a careful description of Rita Skeeter and asked if Dudley had heard if she’d been spotted nosing around asking questions of Aunt Petunia about their family tree. She seemed like the type, and she’d promised ‘more shocking revelations to come’ in her last article, after all.

In regard to Christmas Harry said he’d make alternate arrangements for that holiday and should have somewhere to stay.

Snape had finally written back, and Harry rushed through reading the long letter on potions theory discussing proper stirring procedure and how all potions required at least one magical component, the detailed questions and discussion about how his studies were going, and Snape’s closing best wishes for the Tournament (which included a gory and dispiriting anecdote about someone dying messily in a previous Tournament).

It was interesting enough, but not as interesting as the invisible writing revealed in the broad, empty margins of the letter with the Revealing Charm. Snape’s revealed writing spilled over onto the blank backs of the parchment sheets, which was an obvious and easier place to write in that Harry wished he’d thought of himself.

_Well done, clever boy. This is superior to Lockhart’s method, which others are now watching for. If possible kindly pre-write your correspondence a week before sending it, so that the aroma of lemons and acidic herbs has time to fade. Discreetly destroy this letter after reading it as a matter of gravest and most urgent importance, for there are opinions and information below that may endanger myself if revealed to any. I hope I can trust in your honour to do so._

That sounded promising for getting some honest answers. He’d definitely destroy the letter as he’d been asked.

_You asked why Lord Voldemort attacked the Tonks family. In short, it was for information, about a presumed-deceased member of the Black family: Regulus Black. A select number of Death Eaters have been made aware that Black stole a Slytherin family heirloom from their Lord many years ago – a locket with a stylised letter S on it. A crime only recently discovered, to his great displeasure. The locket is presumed destroyed, by parties on all sides, but should you ever stumble across such an item, keep it hidden and safe. For judging by the Dark Lord’s towering rage it is of immense importance to him and would prove a bargaining chip of incalculable worth. Dumbledore also knows of this item – for the Tonks family were asked about it over and over again, and their house ransacked in a fruitless and pointless search for it – and he suspects it may be another item similar to one you have already encountered._

Harry guessed that Snape was hinting here that Dumbledore thought the locket might be another item with a malignant spirit impression like the cursed diary.

_He believes the Dark Lord is the type of man who would make a back-up plan in case the first failed but will share no more of his thoughts and remains irritatingly inscrutable when pressed and will not confide in me about the matter._

_You queried as to why other methods like truth potions or Legilimency weren’t employed. They were. The problem is that such methods are not infallible. A skilled mind successfully hiding a secret and a mind truly innocent look much alike._

_The general order to kill Sirius Black if at all possible has been commuted to an order to apprehend him for questioning first, but he remains elusive. Bellatrix Lestrange and Narcissa Malfoy – once of the House of Black – were also questioned under duress about the stolen item but were unable to give Lord Voldemort the answers he demanded, so he consequently sought elsewhere for the information, to the relief of themselves and their husbands. Neither dare complain to anyone about their treatment._

Oh dear! That probably meant Narcissa had been questioned, even tortured, though it hadn’t made the news. Probably Bellatrix Lestrange too, but Harry didn’t care about her. She’d helped torture Neville’s parents into insanity; she had it coming. He _guessed_ that the change in orders would help Sirius, so that was a good thing. Sort of.

_Young Mr. Malfoy is unaware of his recent family difficulties, and his mother wishes to shield her son and have matters remain that way, so I would remind you again that all information shared here is to be kept in the strictest confidence. She does not wish to involve the authorities either, for she does not want to draw any attention to her family. The Malfoys feel that accusations of willing collaboration would be more likely than unbiased offers of assistance._

Awkward, but fair. Draco seemed stressed enough already without knowing about something like that. Harry wondered if the Malfoy family was _willingly_ collaborating with the Dark Lord or if the Imperius Curse was involved, and if Cousin Narcissa being tortured would change their allegiances one way or the other.

_“Is the Dark Lord mad?” A dangerous question and I would remind you again to destroy this letter after reading it. Leaving aside any discussion of whether one agrees with his goals or not, I would say that he is somewhat mentally unbalanced at present. Overuse of the Imperius Curse has left him intolerant of failure and anything resembling insubordination. You are correct that Dark Magic affects your state of mind if over-used. This is also the case for **any** spells with a heavy emotional component or that forge any kind of mental link between caster and subject. Regular use of Legilimency, for example, can influence one into wanting to covertly gather more and more information._

Harry figured that Snape knew that from personal experience. While it might be seen as a necessity for survival for a double-agent spy to be well-informed, Harry thought that Dumbledore had no such excuse for using Legilimency when it suited him, or for getting the Hogwarts portraits to spy for him.

_Similarly, the Patronus spell, which forges a link between yourself and a spiritual guardian, can become tempting to rely on and leaves one unjustifiably cheerful and inclined to be over-protective of others. What a wizard says and does bears more weight for us than for Muggles for whom ‘I give my word’ is naught but a hollow phrase._

_Your next questions addressed why the Dark Lord was not using more covert means to achieve his goals. He **is** doing precisely that. There have been several major successes that are not reported on, which is precisely what the Dark Lord wishes. Enemies have been removed or suborned, information gathered, followers recruited and trained, people placed in positions of influence, auguries consulted, and alliances forged. He currently believes firmly in the dictum that ‘No enterprise is more likely to succeed than one concealed from the enemy until it is ripe for execution.’_

_Dumbledore and his followers fight in secret too, though typically without coordination with Ministry efforts as he feels – with some justification – that the Ministry has been infiltrated by the opposition. Few battles reach the ear of the Daily Prophet, and even fewer are reported on. Some alliances have been interfered with, resources cut off, lost individuals have been found, and others freed from the Imperius Curse. Many so freed chose to flee Britain rather than stay and fight. The Ministry has at times encountered some Azkaban escapees, but prefers not to publicly report on their failures to apprehend dangerous criminals._

_Do not be one of the fools – which even the Dark Lord’s own ranks include – who expect a mass attack against the Muggles. He may hate or sneer at them, but he wishes for isolation of the magical world from the Muggles, and an unmistakable magical attack against Muggles would draw undesired attention. He will attack Muggles only when it suits his goals and does not endanger the wizarding world. Sorties, perhaps, but nothing more. He is increasingly well-positioned to make a serious attempt to take over England in due course, and it would thus be wise to maintain your current truce of neutrality, to help ensure your survival however events play out._

_Yes, I have heard of that truce, as have some others in his inner circle, though it is not widely known. I have heard rumours you are in ongoing negotiations with the Dark Lord. Be very careful, for he is openly smug in his certainty that sooner or later you will be fully won to his cause._

Harry _knew_ it! He knew that neutrality wouldn’t be enough for the man. Damn it.

_Your youth shelters you for now, but know that such neutrality cannot last forever, and eventually you will be pressed to without reserve openly declare for one side and stand against the other._

Snape, he guessed, got around that by declaring firmly to _both_ sides that he was their most loyal and trustworthy follower.

_Dumbledore is increasingly uncertain that your sympathies lie with the Light side, having heard unsettling bits of information from various sources. He likewise seems keen to ensure your allegiance lies in the right place (i.e. with himself and the status quo of the current Ministry) and I understand he has some plans in mind to work on that this year with you, so expect attempts at manipulating your opinions from both sides. I cannot comment on why your allegiance is of particular importance to these parties._

That would be one of his Unbreakable Vows tripping Snape up again. Probably something to do with the prophecy. Harry thought Ambrosius was right – he really needed to find out exactly what it said.

_You may be pleased to hear that the Dark Lord has issued a general instruction to his followers to refrain from attacking magical children, unless given specific orders to the contrary to target a particular family. The grapevine grants credit for this policy partially to yourself, as it is a condition known to be part of your truce (with dire consequences for those who break it), though the specific details of that truce are unknown. I would be interested in hearing the full details and am willing to advise you impartially on the matter, should you wish counsel held in confidence. I would call you a fool for entering into such an agreement, yet I understand the urge for survival, and I laud your achievement of brokering safety for the children of the magical world – or most of them, at least. Some few chafe under this ruling, yet many followers have families of their own that they fear for, or have consciences that nag at the thought of killing children, or are more dispassionately concerned at reducing the magical population of Britain unnecessarily. You are welcomed by some as a moderating influence on the Dark Lord, even at a distance. Know that Pettigrew – in his **infirmity** – is your most determined enemy and barely hides his desire to go against his Lord and slay you at the least opportunity. Defend yourself by any means necessary should you encounter him._

Harry wondered if Snape was trying to subtly encourage pre-emptive murder. Pettigrew was a highly wanted man, with Voldemort’s continued existence not officially acknowledged by the Ministry. Harry thought he could probably get away with it, if it came to that. He’d be more likely to get a medal than get sent to Azkaban.

_With limited space remaining, I must close by answering your remaining questions. I cannot recommend a reliable and discreet Seer to help you with your query. I can say only that Professor Trelawney is in general a charlatan with extremely limited Second Sight but does have a small gift for issuing rare true prophecies that she does not recall. Mr. Xenophilius Lovegood is rumoured to have the gift of Second Sight more strongly, but I doubt can help you with your specific needs. Divinatory talents are also known traditionally to run in the Sacred House of Weasley, though if any currently possess abilities as Seers they are keeping it to themselves._

_You might like to note as a piece of general information that witnesses of what they believe are true prophecies can submit copies of their memories to the Department of Mysteries for archival and consideration. A fact that other parties are also interested in. I do not recommend a solo expedition to the Ministry at this point in time, as it may entail significant risk on your part._

Interesting. Who wanted to stop him viewing a memory of the prophecy about himself? It sounded like maybe _both_ sides did. Maybe trying to win over Dumbledore would be the best way to learn what had been said, especially if Trelawney – whom it seemed likely from Snape’s hints was the prophet in question – didn’t remember the prophecy she’d given.

_I shall not dwell on a discussion of the Triwizard Tournament. It is a moronic idea from start to finish. I am reassured to hear that your entry was not at your own instigation, as I had briefly thought you mentally deficient to think you could win when only a fourth-year student, despite your hidden talents. Remember that your goal should be to **survive** , not to win. Survival no matter the cost is what your mother would have wanted for you._

_Let me close by thanking you for your unusual understanding about my precarious position. Should you write any letter that you are content for me to share with any interested parties, kindly include a mention of the current weather._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Master Severus Snape_

Harry read over the letter twice more, then burnt it to ash with a whispered charm. Then he got to work on his various replies. First there was a letter for the Dark Lord politely chatting about the Tournament and his studies (including an ingratiating mention that he’d followed his advice about asking for special consideration from his teachers) and asking for safety for Neville. Along with his other assorted outgoing correspondence was also a letter to Snape without any magically hidden extra messages. He carefully mentioned the bitingly cold weather, waffled about potions theory, asked for tips on silent and wandless spellcasting, and slyly expressed his heartfelt wish that he knew for what ‘weird reason’ Lord Voldemort had attacked him when he was a baby. He speculated as to whether Dumbledore – being a war hero and all – might know why.

_If he does know, I wish he would tell me. I wish someone would. The history books are pretty useless, and Binns needs to move on to the afterlife since he knows so little about modern history like the last war._

-000-

The rest of the week passed by in a blur of unrelenting study, and even his theoretically relaxing and fun Hogsmeade Saturday was spent hiding away in either an empty classroom or the Chamber of Secrets, working on mastering various spells that might be useful for the Tournament. Sunday, Harry was resolved, would be spent studying his Muggle subjects. Hermione was off to the Bible Study group since it was the third Sunday of the month, along with a handful of students from other Houses and years, plus a couple of exchange students. She politely invited Harry and Neville to join her, and gracefully accepted Harry’s explanation that he needed that time to catch up on his correspondence studies for Chemistry and Biology, and that he wasn’t a Christian, anyway.

Neville tentatively agreed to join her, however, as did a number of other students. Harry saw Susan Bones – who looked exhausted and stressed, perhaps because of the recent full moon – being supported in her journey by a gaggle of Hufflepuffs including Finch-Fletchley, Abbott, Jones, and some senior students including Hogwarts’ Head Girl, Tamsin Applebee. Bones was _never_ left to walk anywhere alone. Harry didn’t know for sure, but he suspected that some people were trying to bully her about being a werewolf. It was possible she was just wanting support, however, for the loyal Hufflepuffs were likewise still clumping around Diggory.

With Draco delightedly willing to act as Harry’s alibi if anyone asked where he was, Harry snuck off to Grantown-on-Spey. He didn’t tell Draco he was meeting Sirius – as his presence in town was a big secret – and left his friend with a vague explanation that he was going to do ‘Muggle stuff’ and contact his tutors.

Harry did a little bit of shopping in Hogsmeade first, picking up some sweets at _Honeyduke’s_ and some more bottles of Invisible Ink and some Muggle-style notebooks and pads of lined paper at _Scribbulus Writing Implements_. He preferred the small shop to _Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop_ on High Street because it was run by a Muggle-born who was willing to stock Muggle stationery.

Sirius picked Harry up at the Shrieking Shack and Side-Along-Apparated him back to the ‘Grantown Den’. Lupin wasn’t there this time due to it being “that time of the month”, as Sirius explained with a wide grin. Sirius hovered until he was sure Harry was happily ensconced in his study area, then left him to some hours of determined and productive work.

When Harry took a break for lunch they had a chat about the attack on the Tonks family.

“Dreadful business,” Sirius said, with a sigh. “It’s all to do with something Regulus stole from You-Know-Who and destroyed, back in the last war – a locket, apparently. I always thought he was loyal to the end and had died on some stupid mission. But it turns out Regulus turned against him right before he died, and went out trying to thwart his plans. It’s all topsy-turvy now, I don’t know _what_ to think.”

Harry hadn’t really thought about that part of it. “Oh, I guess that’s a really big… Yeah, that must really change how you see him.”

Sirius nodded sombrely. “I really regret some things I said to him now, near the end. I called him names… refused to see him. I wonder now if he was trying to switch sides, and I never gave him the chance. He was so young… just barely eighteen. We were all so young, not that we felt it at the time. We thought we were so grown up.”

“He’s definitely dead?”

“Yes. I’ve had a Master from France look over the family tapestry. The enchantments have been double-checked, they’ve repaired what burnt patches they can, and it’s generally been given some much-needed maintenance. She was absolutely sure the charms that recorded his death were – and are – working properly. It’s not set to record deaths of infants under a year old – an old tradition – and it is a little iffy on whether or not it records marriages and children of people whose lineage and membership aren’t clearly part of the House of Black, but apart from those exceptions it’s very thorough.”

“How is Kreacher taking it, the news about Regulus?” Harry wondered what the old house-elf thought of his beloved former Master turning out to be some kind of traitor to the Dark Lord. (He also absent-mindedly wondered what the infant mortality rate in the wizarding world was.)

“He seems pretty upset, and kind of lost. It turns out he knows how Regulus died, and it wasn’t a pretty death so don’t ask me – or him – for the details, alright? He got really upset about it when we made him talk about it, and frankly I don’t want to think about it either. I don’t blame him for clamming up.”

“I promise.”

Sirius cleared his throat, before continuing. “Your house-elf, Dobby, seems to be supporting him, though. Thick as thieves those two are now, though you wouldn’t have thought they’d bond when they first met, would you? Kreacher’s not loving the makeover of Grimmauld Place, but Dobby doesn’t have his attachment to how things used to be, so he does the heavy lifting when we change things up.”

Harry nodded.

“I think you should know that I have offered to host Tonks and Andromeda at Grimmauld Place – aside from being generally polite to help people in need it’s kind of an Old tradition called Sanctuary, I don’t know if you’ve heard of it? Anyway, we are making over a couple of bedrooms for them, just in case. Do you want to keep staying in Regulus’ old room? The other one’s all fixed up now, but Regulus’ is bigger, and we’ve replaced the wallpaper. It looks really nice now too.”

“Yes, I’ve heard of it. I like Regulus’ room, thanks. If you don’t mind, I’d like to keep it. But if you want to move me, that’s alright too – I don’t want to be a bother.”

“You’re not a bother.”

Harry shrugged. “Say, did you find anything interesting while renovating the house?” he asked, thinking with guilty distraction of the ‘rubbish’ in the attic.

“Nothing worth mentioning, unless you count some furniture in good nick. Apart from that, there were a couple of old broomsticks with the charms going a bit wonky but still usable, my mother’s wedding robes, a box of old toys… that sort of thing.”

Harry nodded in guilty relief. The house-elves must have squirrelled anything dubious away elsewhere.

“Sirius? Um, I was wondering… if I could stay with you over Christmas? The Dursleys are going away.” Harry wasn’t really sure if Dudley’s message meant if he was invited to travel to Majorca with the Dursleys or not but figured it was better to play it safe as they’d never previously wanted to take him anywhere. He wasn’t sure he wanted to go with them anyway, even if they wanted him to. The more people like Ambrosius talked with him about it, and the more he thought about it, the more he thought he’d be better off on his own – or with Sirius – than with the Dursleys. Even if it _was_ only a week or two here and there.

Sirius lit up with happiness. “Of course! That would be great! Grimmauld Place will be just _packed_ full of people for Yule, then! You don’t mind if the Tonks family stays with us too, do you?”

“Of course not! They need somewhere safe to stay, and it’s not up to me, anyway. It’s your house.”

“Well, yes. But… I hope it will be your house too, one day,” Sirius said hesitantly, “so your opinion matters too.”

Harry looked down shyly and mumbled something noncommittal. It launched Sirius into a recitation of all the things he’d been doing lately as the Potter Regent. He’d renewed the anti-tourist and anti-Muggle charms on Potter Cottage and the boundary wards of Potter Manor. He’d also earnt some income for the Potter Family Vault by agisting some pegasi on the manor’s grounds and seeing to the harvesting of some bark and twigs from a grove of Wiggentrees.

With Sirius eager to prove his usefulness in fulfilling his legal vow to be at the service of the House of Potter for a year – or perhaps his fitness as a guardian – Harry sacrificed a precious hour of study time in getting Sirius’ assistance to help him update his will, in advance of the first task.

Sirius was at first reluctant but was won over by Harry’s calm pragmatism about the matter. “I’ve got a will drafted already,” Harry explained, “but I don’t know if it would stand up to goblins doing, you know, sneaky stuff to seize my money. Plus, I’m pretty sure I need a witness and to sign with a blood quill and all that, like you did.”

Following the rules of _legitima portio_ , the family vault and rights to the Potter name went to Sirius, as the current next in line to the House of Potter. Harry also named him as executor and Regent (if required in the future), followed by Perseus Parkinson (Pansy’s father) as a close relative who was good with dealing with the goblins, then Severus Snape.

“Snape?” Sirius whined unhappily.

Harry shrugged. “I think he’d be fair and distribute things properly. And you never know how the war might go.”

“A snake like him will probably survive either way,” Sirius muttered darkly.

“I’m leaving him my mother’s gold potions cauldron in my will, please don’t make a fuss,” Harry warned. Sirius mimed a silencing spell with a grumpy look.

As gifts for his friends to receive when they turned seventeen (as advised by Sirius for legal reasons), Harry left the money in his personal vault and his wand to Neville, his photo album to Sirius, various family keepsakes, books and jewellery to Pansy, Draco, Luna, and a few other friends, Storm to Millicent, his father’s pocket watch to Dudley, and a copy of his ‘personal notes about house-elves’ to Hermione. If Sirius predeceased him, seven Black family heirlooms were to each go to Narcissa Malfoy and Andromeda Tonks, chosen alternately starting with Cousin Narcissa, and overseen by the executor.

Sirius seemed to approve most of his plans. “I’m not sure how many heirlooms will be left, but I’m sure they’ll find something to fight over, and I’ll be dead and not in a position to care anyway,” he said. “I think we had best note that Bulstrode is to receive Storm immediately, even though the other gifts should wait until they’re of age. What’s that letter for Granger about, then?” Sirius asked curiously.

Harry hesitated before explaining cautiously, “Don’t tell anyone, but I found out some snippets of information about house-elf enslavement – don’t ask me how. But… I don’t want to tell her, because it involves Dark magic. And I guess I’m worried that if I tell her about it now, she’ll be tempted to research it a lot and maybe do stuff she shouldn’t. Neville thought I shouldn’t tell her – I talked it over with him.”

Sirius nodded slowly. “She’s pretty fanatic about house-elves, isn’t she? I didn’t want to say anything, but I think perhaps you should know that she’s sent me three letters nagging me to properly assume my role as the Head of House, on the off chance that it would help improve Kreacher’s health.”

“Um. Well, have you thought about it? I guess I think it might help, too?” Harry ventured cautiously.

“Perchance it may. However, ‘tis none of her concern and I am under no obligation to justify or continually explain my actions, and I did not appreciate being told that if I didn’t do it I must be ‘an abusive, amoral slave-owner’ in her final letter.”

“Ouch!” Harry said, with a wince. “I could ask her to stop writing?”

“No, it’s fine, don’t worry about it. The rest of the letters were polite enough, and she’s already stopped now. Don’t let it affect your friendship,” Sirius urged, in a more relaxed and informal tone. “I am simply trying to express – rather badly – that I think your decision to hold off on sharing information with her right now is wise.”

Sirius gave him a sidelong look. “Don’t think I’m not curious about where or how you found out your mysterious information. However, I’m not going to cast the first hex when I did some things as a teenager that I wouldn’t want looked at too closely, either. I will stay mum. Just… be careful. You’re already aware that Dark magic can be tempting, so that’s good. It can be addictive too, did you know?” he said gravely. “The easy path.”

“Yes, I know. I won’t… that is, I’m not interested…” Harry said awkwardly, and cleared his throat. “It’s good to know how to counter nasty curses, that’s all. Of various sorts. For being a Healer, and just… knowing a few things to protect myself. For the Tournament, and in general.” His eyes lingered on Sirius’ dry, withered arm.

Sirius’ worried face cleared, and he smiled. “Good to hear.” 

“So, uh, how have you been?”

“Fine,” Sirius said, with a toothy smile. “Just fine. How about you? Studies all under control now? Stressed about the Tournament?”

 _Mm hmm_ , Harry thought sceptically. _That sounds exactly like me, and his smile looks hollow. I didn’t know him well enough before, but I can see it now._

It wasn’t the same tight, thin-lipped smile that Aunt Petunia wore when she was congratulating a neighbour who was boasting about their own child’s accomplishments. She and Sirius couldn’t look more different, in fact. But all the same, there was something eerily similar about their expressions to Harry’s eye. The falsity of them.

Sirius wasn’t happy. He was just trying to _look_ cheerful because he thought that was the expression he should be wearing right now. That it was what he thought Harry wanted to see. Harry knew all about acts, and how tiring they could become. He decided he would summon up his small reserves of Gryffindor courage and talk to Sirius about it.

“Uh huh. How have you _really_ been doing?” he asked again, more pointedly.

Sirius cleared his throat and glanced away. “Are you sure you want to hear the details?”

Harry nodded gravely. “Yes.”

“Well, uh… I guess… mostly well? Guy Fawkes Night wasn’t fun. Red and green lights in the sky, and the loud bangs… Fireworks sound a lot like people noisily Apparating, you know?” he admitted. “I spent half the night trying to guard Remus from non-existent attacks; good thing he’s so patient with me. Apart from that it’s been fine. Remus and I have split our time between here in Grantown-on-Spey and Grimmauld Place. We’ve done some work for the Order, too, but I can’t talk about that. Hunting Pettigrew, and some other secret missions. Guarding ah… somewhere important. Dangerous work, but we are both okay, with no injuries that couldn’t be easily healed.”

“I understand. And… thank you for sharing.”

Sirius nodded uncomfortably. “So, what else? I’m still getting used to casting with my left arm, but it’s going well. I have a new wand now. My old wand was a 12” cherry wood wand with a Welsh Green dragon heartstring core – good for duelling and charms. The new one is an 11” cypress wand with an Ironbelly heartstring core, a little more bendy than my last, but it’s working really well. It’s a combination allegedly suited to the brave and the bold, and those willing to confront darkness. Remus has a cypress wand too, though he has a unicorn hair core.”

They chatted lightly about wandlore for a little while, then Harry spent another couple of hours studying before heading back to Hogwarts.

 _Sirius might make a good guardian_ , he mused to himself. _He’s trying so hard._ It wasn’t comfortable, thinking of leaving the Dursleys. However, maybe that way everyone would be happier… and safer. Himself included. Maybe it was time to start thinking more about what _he_ wanted, not what the Dursleys or anyone else wanted. So long as his family would still stay safe with functioning wards, anyway.

-000-

With only two days left before the first task, Harry should have been either studying or sound asleep. However, late on Tuesday night, well after curfew, he was skulking down the Hogwarts corridors and out of the castle. He moved at a slow shuffle, because he was wasn’t alone under his invisibility cloak.

“I do not see why Draco needs to talk to you alone at such a late hour,” Neville whispered very quietly, once they were out the doors of the castle and into the grounds. “It is most improper.”

“Ew. It’s no different than being alone with you! You can chaperone us, okay? And it’s not like that, anyway; I have a funny feeling he likes Hermione, though he’s never said anything about it. I told you already – it’s something to do with the Tournament.”

“You noticed, did you? I think so too, though I sincerely doubt the feeling is mutual,” Neville said. “I am sure she is not fond of _him_. You know, it could be a trap. Tonight’s meeting, that is, not Hermione. Are you sure the message was from him?”

Harry sighed. “Yes. He passed it to me himself, after Potions.”

There was a pause, then Neville whispered, “Will he not be mad I came along, then?”

“I don’t know. Maybe a little cross? But… I think whatever he’s got in mind is something dangerous, since he told me to bring my Healer’s bag ‘just in case’. I promised you ages ago I’d bring you along next time I did something horrifically dangerous, so here we both are. He’ll understand it’s a debt I had to repay, and if he doesn’t… well, too bad. You’re my friend and I want you to come along. He’ll live.”

Even in the darkness of night there was just enough moonlight to spot Draco’s pale head, where he hid behind the Slytherin Quidditch stand.

“Psst! Draco!” Harry whispered, as they approached.

Draco span around in a panic with his wand drawn.

“It’s me, Harry!”

Draco relaxed and lowered his wand. He squinted into the darkness. “Merlin! You gave me a start. Have you got a charm up? I can’t see you.”

“Invisibility cloak.”

Draco whistled. “Very nice!”

Harry drew the cloak off himself and Neville.

“Surprise!” Neville said, with a nervous grin. “You have a chaperone for your assignation this evening, Malfoy.”

Draco was indeed startled, and glanced at Neville briefly as he spoke, but Draco’s eyes were more focused on staring at Harry. For Harry had a second layer of disguise up; he had used his Metamorphmagus abilities to give himself curly light-brown hair and blue eyes. Draco lit up his wand with a muttered charm, to get a better look at Harry’s face.

“ _Harry_? Is that you?”

“Yes? Um… I thought Millicent told you? About how I was a Metamorphmagus? A bit? I do hope you haven’t gossiped about that, by the way. I kept meaning to talk to you about it, but I’ve been so busy. And I forgot.”

“Well yes, I knew. I haven’t told anyone except my parents.”

Not ideal, but Harry guessed it could’ve been worse. It was his own fault, really, for not talking to Draco earlier. At least the whole school didn’t know.

“I am just surprised because… well, look at you! Amazing! You look like a completely different person. Though your bone structure’s the same. It’s mostly the hair, I think. How did you change your glasses?” Draco peered curiously at the green frames.

“Oh, that’s just a Colour-Change Charm. It’s not part of the power – I can’t change my clothes.”

Harry gave a cheeky bow of introduction, swishing his fancy green winter cloak about with a flourish as he did so. “Antares Black, at your service. Third-year Slytherin.”

Draco blinked. “Well, it is a pleasure to meet you, I suppose. Nice to see you Sorted into Slytherin where you belong this time, Harry. Antares.”

“It is a sensible measure in case he gets caught,” Neville said, with a grin. “Slytherin will lose points instead of Gryffindor.” He flinched as Draco glared at him, his smile falling away.

“That is _not_ fair,” Draco said crossly.

“Then don’t get us caught,” Neville rebutted. He grabbed Harry’s invisibility cloak and tossed it over himself, disappearing from sight.

“Why did you bring Longbottom?” Draco whined. “I told you to come alone!”

“Well yes, but he’s my friend and besides, I owed him a favour,” Harry explained.

Draco subsided with a huff, clearly accepting that as sufficient excuse without the need for further elaboration. He led them off towards the Forbidden Forest.

Neville’s footsteps crunched along behind them, like the ghost of Eurydice they weren’t allowed to look for but had to trust was still with them by sound and faith alone.

Draco’s eyes darted around looking ahead of them as they walked, watching for any of the many dangers of the forest.

“So, what’s this all about then?” Harry asked.

He had his wand out too, just in case, and his black Healer’s bag in his left hand. He really hoped he wouldn’t need either of them. Casting spells was dicey in the Forbidden Forest. Some people said it was monitored year-round by a rota of teachers, while other students swore Dumbledore only bothered keeping watch on festival dates and Hogsmeade weekends. No-one had ever gotten warning letters from the Ministry for casting spells in the Forbidden Forest, so that was something, at least.

“You will see,” said Draco, puffing up proudly. “I heard a rumour and I investigated last night. It’s about the Tournament, and I think you should see for yourself. In a minute we’ll reach the boundary wards. You will feel an urge to turn around, that it is unsafe to proceed and you should go back to Hogwarts. Strengthen your Occlumency barriers and you can push through it, though.”

“Lead me through?” Neville whispered nervously to Harry. His cloth-covered hand fumbled for Harry’s in the dark, and Harry gave it a squeeze.

“Of course.”

As they walked forward Harry indeed felt an inexplicable urge to turn back for the castle but pushed through it with a determinedly clear mind full of ocean waves and dragged Neville along with him, who was lead-footed and reluctant to follow, muttering about how he was sure the castle would be safer.

“Not far now,” Draco whispered. “There are some kind of silencing charms or wards up but stay quiet just in case. Do not venture past the fence – there are runes on the corner posts and I am unsure what they do but there might be alarm charms tied to them. Besides, it would not be safe. There are some wizards in tents on the other side and we don’t want them to spot us. Hopefully everyone – and every _thing_ – will be asleep.”

They walked around a clump of trees, and in the clearing ahead they could suddenly see three dragons, each to his anxious eyes looked to be the size of a small hill, and thankfully they were all asleep. The smallest dragon (at a mere twenty feet or so) was a glossy smooth-scaled light green one with two horns on top of its head, while the largest was a forty-foot dark green one with two smooth golden circles on its brow where horns would normally be but had been cut short, and a smaller bony circle on the tip of its snout. The medium sized dragon was curled up in as tight a ball as the chains around it would allow, making an estimate of its length difficult, and was a rough-scaled black dragon.

“Dear Merlin,” whimpered Neville.

“I _told_ you it would be dragons,” Draco whispered smugly. “There was no way the first task would be _plants_ , and salamanders are too small to impress an audience.”

Harry watched them for a while. Dear Merlin, indeed! He had to face a _dragon_ in the first task. Well, at least he’d studied them, with help from Draco’s dragon-researching team. It would still be horrifically dangerous, but so long as he wasn’t expected to do something _insane_ like try and kill one, he _hoped_ he would be alright. He had a couple of ideas to try.

They watched the dragons in silence for a while, and Harry studied them as best he could, assessing them and looking for weak points. Unfortunately, none of them seemed to have an obvious missing scale on their bellies, like Hermione had optimistically hoped might be the case if he had to face a dragon. All three dragons were chained down very thoroughly, with thick leather straps around their necks and each limb, to which were attached enormous silvery chains leading to metal pegs in the ground as thick as Harry’s leg.

Harry gave a tug of his hand to Neville, and a jerk of his head to Draco, and they all backed slowly away from the dragon’s clearing.

“I want to go back to the castle, it’s not safe here,” Neville fretted, as they passed back through the boundary ward. Harry spotted an out-of-place rune-carved stone propped against a tree, which had clearly triggered Neville’s anxiety up an extra notch as they crossed the ward.

Back hiding behind the stands at the Quidditch pitch, they talked over what they’d seen.

“Weren’t they amazing?” Draco gushed.

“Gryffindor!” Harry teased. “Professor Hagrid would be proud of you.”

“There is no call to be insulting,” Draco sniffed.

“I think you should keep your fingers crossed for the Welsh Green,” Neville said, with a sigh. “Not that any of them are safe. Was that a Romanian Longhorn, the big one? I didn’t recognise the black dragon.”

“Yes, a male Romanian Longhorn, with its beautiful golden horns cut off and the stumps ground down. Either to harvest them for potions ingredients, or to protect the dragon from poachers,” Draco said. “Probably a little of both, in addition to which now it will be less likely to kill other males during mating season. The black one was a gorgeous Hebridean Black. It has purple eyes – I saw them last night – and an arrow-shaped tail tip. You couldn’t see them since it was asleep, but it has the characteristically smaller feet and claws of a male.”

“The Common Welsh Green is a male too?” Harry checked.

“I would not swear on it by Merlin, but the keepers – thankfully asleep in their tents this evening – were yelling ‘Chain him down!’ and so on last night, so I think we can assume it is.”

Draco talked enthusiastically about the differences between the three breeds and agreed with Neville that the Welsh Green should be the one to hope to face in the Tournament.

He also ranted extensively about the problem of poachers ‘harvesting’ endangered dragons for parts, including the stony gem dracontias, which was found in their brains. “They should stick to toads,” he concluded with a huff. “Dragons have been in decline for centuries, thanks to Muggle knights, poaching wizards, and declining territory. You had better not kill one, Harry. I doubt they will want you to, anyway.”

“I doubt I even _could_ ,” Harry reassured. It’s not like it was _easy_. “How do poachers even kill them, anyway? They should just harvest them when they die for those magic stones.”

“It wouldn’t work. The dragon must be drugged and killed with its head cut off, unaware of its impending death. If it knows death is coming the gem is destroyed so natural death is unwanted by poachers keen to obtain the gem. They usually kill young dragons, as the easiest targets, though that is still dangerous as some species are protective of their young. Toadstones are much easier to obtain, and almost as powerful.”

“Kill a dragon…” muttered Neville. “It seems unlikely. Mayhap you shall need to just get past it or draw first blood. Or even simply touch it and get away without dying. Definitely hope for the Welsh Green, in any case.”

“Though if you face the Hebridean Black, you might have an edge if you can distract it with a transfigured deer. It has a great weakness for venison. You have been reading my notes and have got a plan for dragons, right, Harry?” Draco asked.

Harry let out a determined huff of breath. “Yes. Yes, I do. A couple of plans, in fact, in case the first one or two fail.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hagrid - His accent is always painful to write. I try hard to match his canonical accent, with help from excellent guides by Furiosity and SwissMiss. Unfortunately no longer available, their guides can still be found via the Wayback Machine website.  
> The idea that infant deaths might not be recorded on family trees is – apart from real world tendencies – inspired by Wellingtongoose, who has some excellent articles about the wizarding world on her livejournal.  
> Dracontias or Draconitis – This information is from the book “A Cabinet of Roman Curiosities” by J.C. McKeown.  
> GalacticHalfling – Thanks for your character suggestion ideas for Bahnsen and some info used for Mayer.  
> EssayofThoughts – Thanks for your conversation (long ago!) about suitable wands for Sirius.  
> Cztelnik – Wards renewed.  
> Banashee – Thanks for helping fix my German accent this fic.


	10. The First Task

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first task begins, and it’s dragons! But not nesting mothers. That would just be utterly idiotic, as Mr. Scamander politely but insistently pointed out to everyone when he was brought onboard as a Triwizard Tournament judge.

**_Thursday 24 th November 1994_ **

The first task was coming up in the blink of an eye. Harry hadn’t been thrilled to find out that he’d have to face _dragons_ when he’d been secretly hoping for Ashwinders (not that any of his research helpers had thought the fire-born serpents were a real contender, as they wouldn’t be dramatic enough). He had only a day and a half left before the first task was to be held on Thursday after lunchtime, so Harry was eager to scrounge as much free time for last-minute Tournament preparation as he could. Hogwarts’ teachers were unofficially complicit in supporting his efforts; some more so than others. Professor Flitwick immediately sent Harry to a vacant adjoining classroom when he showed up on Wednesday morning, then spent the lesson flitting back and forth between his actual class and Harry’s room like an uncertain butterfly with too many flowers to visit, periodically nipping in to give Harry tips and correct his wand motions.

In Herbology Harry tried to covertly read a book on dragons while Neville did his own _and_ Harry’s pruning. Ron spontaneously leapt into action on Harry’s behalf, loudly telling Professor Sprout that Harry looked “peaky” and should “go have a cup of tea and a nice lie down”. A chorus of Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs agreed that Harry looked unwell, and Professor Sprout let Harry off class entirely with a knowing wink for Harry, and a note for Neville to pass on to Professor McGonagall permitting Harry to waive his next class too.

Harry scurried off with relief to practice his spellcasting down in the Chamber of Secrets where no passing stray Durmstrang or Beauxbatons students might overhear him and guess at his strategies. He only emerged after lunch was over (having snacked on some of his emergency supplies) for Care of Magical Creatures, during which Professor Hagrid – who clearly knew the first task was dragons – tried clumsily to check that Harry was ready for the challenge ahead without actually telling him anything directly but giving very obvious hints.

The evening before the first task Harry’s friends were over-eager to help – too much so for Harry to feel safe sneaking away again to the Chamber of Secrets, or indeed _anywhere_ on his own. So Harry instead dispatched people to find him some tutors to help him brush up on some selected spells, and spent the afternoon and evening in a dusty, empty classroom repetitively drilling in tricky transfiguration spells and charms under the watchful eyes of his friends Peregrine, Diggory, Alice Tolipan, and Fred Weasley, who were all whizzes at Transfiguration or Charms classes (Fred was apparently slightly better at Transfiguration than George, who had the edge on his brother in Potions). It was a united Hogwarts effort with one tutor diplomatically selected from each House. Observers were kicked out apart from Harry’s closest friends who were all sworn to secrecy (some formally on their Houses’ honour) about Harry’s plans on how to tackle the first task. The group also included Theodore Nott in a calculated public display of friendship, and George Weasley who simply refused to leave. Neville and Hermione were there to support him of course, along with Pansy, Draco, Millicent, Tracey, Luna, and Anthony, while Greg and Vincent stood sentinel outside the door since Harry was nervous enough without people interrupting to watch and judge his successes and failures. Not that any of his friends were being unpleasant about it, but it was already weird enough to have people clapping, gasping, and commenting on his spellcasting. After a flurry of hissed whispers amongst his audience the applause subsided and morphed over the evening into them instead calling out encouragement, urging him that the spells were easy and he could do it, that he ‘almost had it that time”. His successes were met with encouraging shouts and calls from his friends to “do it again, but faster”.

A whisker after curfew Harry flopped into bed, sinking with relief into the feathery softness. He was utterly exhausted from his day of intensive spellcasting but felt a lot more prepared for the Tournament.

“ _Owlss brought thingss for you again_ ,” Storm hissed helpfully, poking his head out of his tank and resting it on the glass. “ _Check if there is sssomething for me_.”

Harry groaned and obediently ripped open a couple of envelopes. There was some junk mail, assorted dull letters wishing him luck in the Tournament which he put in a pile to answer later, and two letters saying variants on the theme that there was no way a scrawny boy like him would beat Viktor Krum. One of those threatened to ‘ruin’ Harry if he hurt Krum enough to end his Quidditch career. Harry snorted. _Quidditch fans_. There was just no arguing with them. Those he tossed into the bin.

“ _No sssnackss_ ,” Harry reported, opening the last two letters which were from people whose writing he recognised.

“ _Millicent is ssstill giving me a sssnack tomorrow? I’m hungry_ ,” complained Storm.

“ _Yess, you’re sssitting with her while I fight dragons. She has a magical rat for you if you behave_.”

The letter from Dudley was short but his cousin’s attitude was interesting. He wished Harry luck in the ‘wizard death tornement’ and said that he wanted to come and watch the ‘final’ as it sounded ‘wicked cool’. Harry didn’t even know where to start organising something like that since he didn’t know where or when it would be, or if Muggles would be able to watch it or not. He dashed off a quick reply to Dudley promising he’d see what he could do, and another hasty note for Sirius, asking him to find out if Dudley’s attendance could be arranged or not, without letting his aunt and uncle know about it. It felt like the kind of problem a regent and potential guardian should take care of for him.

The final letter of note was from Voldemort, promising Neville’s safety, and confidently wishing Harry luck in the Tournament in an odd way that seemed to suggest that failure from a fellow Parselmouth in the face of such a challenge would be totally unacceptable. Harry wasn’t quite sure whether the letter was expressing faith in his abilities, or a veiled threat not to stuff up. Perhaps it was a bit of both.

Voldemort also requested in formal tones verging on a demand that Harry’s next letter contain at least a foot on which Healing charms and rituals had been banned by the Ministry over the centuries that Harry thought should be made legal. The Dark Lord also ranted in his letter for some time about the ‘evil scourges’ of polio and dragon pox, and how short-sighted the wizarding world was about banning vaccinations since many believed it was all blood-based and thus evil, and that any kind of stabbing people with needles was either Dark magic, voodoo, or ‘intolerably Muggle’. Judging by his impassioned anecdotes, Lord Voldemort had obviously seen a couple of children badly afflicted by polio during his youth, and it had left quite the impression on him. Dragon pox apparently had a particularly high mortality rate amongst infant wizards and witches, ‘literally decimating’ each new generation.

Harry huffed and put the letter on the bottom of his pile of correspondence to answer later, before tucking the whole bundle away in his chest and magically locking it. Great, the Dark Lord was giving him _homework_ now. Well, he’d worry about Lord Voldemort trying to tempt him into learning forbidden magic and hating the Ministry and the medical establishment _later_. Right now he needed to get some sleep, because tomorrow was going to be trying enough without facing it while exhausted.

“ _Harold, I’m cold. And bored_.”

Harry sighed, and scooped Storm out of his tank, letting his pet coil up on his warm chest, under the thick feather duvet. He fell asleep with his hand on Storm’s smooth, cool scales, listening to hissed speculations about whether dragon eggs would be too big to eat or not.

-000-

Thursday morning went by in a nervous blur, and Harry was only vaguely aware of losing some points in Transfiguration. He couldn’t focus on anything at all, and spent the class trying to talk himself out of a panic about his imminent public failure, and half-heartedly casting a couple of spells while his mind whirled. He wished he could use his invisibility cloak in the task. If only they were permitted things other than their wands, it would be easier. There were a few potions he would’ve liked to use, too, like a cauldron full of Sleeping Draught. Still, he had a plan. A couple of plans. So long as he didn’t need to _kill_ a dragon Harry thought he’d be alright. Maybe he wouldn’t win… but the goal wasn’t to win, it was to survive. Winning was very secondary, not that he’d say that aloud to some of his over-eager Gryffindor supporters who seemed to favour the ‘come back with your shield or on it’ approach to danger.

After a lunch which Harry’s anxious stomach kept down only because of Harry’s sheer dogged determination not to see food wasted, it was suddenly time for the Triwizard Tournament to get underway, lessons having been cancelled for the afternoon.

Dumbledore led Harry from the Great Hall, and Harry plastered a falsely confident Lockhart-approved smile on his face to hide his nerves as he waved goodbye to the raucous cheering crowds of Hogwarts students. Madame Maxime led Fleur Delacour out, while Karkaroff accompanied Viktor Krum, to less enthusiastic but still noisy applause – both students were also popular with Hogwarts students, for different reasons.

“Are you ready, Mr. Potter?” Dumbledore asked murmured, with a concerned look. “I cannot offer any specific advice; however, it would be a great comfort to me to know you felt prepared for the challenge ahead of you.”

“As ready as I can be, sir,” Harry replied, trying to look confident. “The clue was a big help, and I don’t know if I can win but I’ll at least do my best to make everyone proud.”

“Do keep in mind that there will be a number of adults ready to intervene should… matters get out of hand,” Dumbledore said more loudly, addressing the other champions as well. “Our mediwitch Madam Pomfrey is also standing by in a Healer’s tent we have erected and will be assisting an experienced Healer from St. Mungo’s should there be any injuries.”

“Sank you, zat is very good,” Madame Maxime said, with a gracious smile.

Delacour didn’t look any more reassured than before, however, and looked rather pale. Krum looked grumpy, but not at all afraid. Harry envied him his confidence, as his own had withered that morning in the face of imminent danger, and dread-filled daydreams of all the spectators hating him after he let them down with a miserable showing in the first task.

As they approached the Quidditch arena Harry saw there was a new wooden fence ringing the Quidditch stands, over ten feet high and blocking the view of the grassy stadium inside. The champions were led to a tent outside it, near a giant pair of wooden gates. Given what Harry expected he and the other champions would soon be facing, it was oddly quiet. Once inside the tent, even the distant noises of birdsong from the forest and the chatter of those yet to enter disappeared entirely. Silencing Charms, obviously. Expansion Charms too – the tent was a wizarding one with a capacious main entry room, and a couple of canvas doors leading off to other rooms.

The three Tournament judges awaited them inside the tent and rose as they entered; white-haired Newt Scamander in a brown suit with a gold-embroidered waistcoat, and a greatcoat with bulging pockets. Professor Marchbanks in the same purple formal robe she’d worn at the Halloween feast (close up the deep violet velvet looked rather faded), and Ludo Bagman, who was the only judge who didn’t look as old as Dumbledore. He’d foregone his old Wimbourne Wasp robes this time in favour of a bright red robe which looked far too tight for him, clearly also dating from a time when he was younger and fitter. He was holding a shimmering purple bag and looked delighted to see them all, especially Harry.

The Headmasters and Headmistresses murmured farewells to their charges and exited the tent, leaving the champions standing in front of the judges.

“Good morning, students!” Professor Marchbanks began, in a loud, demanding tone that expected a response. She held a golden ear trumpet to her ear to listen to their polite return greetings.

“In one hour the first task will begin,” she explained. “However, so as to allow you a little extra time to plan your strategy, we will now explain the full details of your task. I hope you have done your research! However, if you feel unprepared or endangered during the task, you may send up a shower of red sparks and a team of witches and wizards will move in to deal with any danger and remove you to safety. Your lives are more important than winning, and there is the possibility of receiving partial points for an incomplete task. You will also be evacuated if any two of the three judges deem you too badly injured to continue.”

Harry nodded in understanding and relief, and there were also no objections to the safety measures from either of the other two champions.

“You will each compete consecutively, with the remaining champions awaiting their turn in this tent, which has been charmed for silence and warded against all manner of spying spells. This is to prevent any champion from profiting off the experience of those who proceed him or her.”

Bagman took his turn speaking next, eagerly holding out the purple silk bag. “Inside this bag are small models of the thing you are about to face! There are different – er – varieties, you see. Your task is… to rescue the princess! You will gain a golden prize on successfully returning the kidnapped princess from being imprisoned in a tower and threatened by – well, you’ll soon see – and returning her safely to her castle.”

“Ladies first,” Bagman said, holding it out to Delacour.

She put a shaking hand into the bag and drew out a perfect model of a dragon – a Hebridean Black. The little statuette blinked its tiny amethyst eyes at her, and its tail twitched. She looked resigned, but not surprised, and Harry got the feeling that she wasn’t any more shocked to be facing a dragon than he was.

Harry took a turn next and drew the dark green Romanian Longhorn. He noted that the model, which flapped its tiny wings at him as it stood on his palm, still had its signature long golden horns, unlike its real-life counterpart. It also had a tiny number ‘three’ tied around its neck.

That left the Common Welsh Green for Krum, who looked perfectly satisfied with his pick.

 _Damn it, I wanted the Welsh Green_ , Harry thought unhappily. _Not that any dragon can be described as placid, but the Welsh Greens are less aggressive towards humans compared to the other breeds._

The advantage of the Krum’s dragon breed being easier to manage would at least be slightly counterbalanced by the fact that Krum would be going first – his dragon’s collar had a number one on it. That would give Harry and Delacour slightly more time to plan.

Ambrosius had told Harry that the white and red breeds of British dragons – now sadly extinct – had been more aggressive and territorial than the Common Welsh Green. In addition to killing any perceived invaders in its territory, the Welsh Red Dragon had had a particularly fearsome shrieking cry which could stun or kill animals and Muggles by magically evoking sheer terror in their hearts, and had thus been subject to deliberate extermination. The Saxon White Dragon had been – unluckily for it – extremely magically potent, and had been hunted to extinction in the quest for magical components like blood and heartstrings, and its easily-dyed beautiful scaly hide. The population had reached unsustainable levels and finally died out a few centuries ago.

After giving the competitors a few moments to ponder their choices, Mr. Scamander continued the explanation of the task ahead of them all.

“Ah, so on to the specifics. You um, have to rescue the princess, as Mr. Bagman said. From a dragon, obviously. The one you selected. Keep the figurine in your pocket.”

“Not a real person, I em hopink? A… pretent princess of… straw ent clothink?” Krum asked, rolling his r’s.

“No, no,” Scamander assured him quickly. “Not a real person. However, you will have to protect them as if they were. You must make your way to the top of the tower, retrieve your princess, and return her home to her castle on the other side of the arena. So there will be two structures on the field, and also the dragon you have selected will be there, of course. It will be right in the middle between the tower and the castle.”

“Zat is good,” Delacour said approvingly.

Harry nervously raised his hand like he was in class.

“Excuse me, but what will get us the most points? Are you expecting us to fight our dragons?”

“Good questions!” Scamander said approvingly. “You will lose significant points if your dragon is killed or mortally injured, but you will not be penalised for um, minor injuries.” Harry noticed Scamander winced at that idea, however, and knew that he’d get more points from Scamander if he somehow left his dragon entirely uninjured. Prewett had eagerly gossiped that her research said that Scamander had been in Hufflepuff, which seemed to fit the man. Harry had read a few of his books and knew that Scamander was rather Hagrid-like in his love of magical beasts. While more willing to defend himself than Professor Hagrid against ‘jus’ a friendly nibble’, he was stalwartly against unnecessary violence towards magical creatures. Well, Harry didn’t have many dragon-killing spells in his repertoire anyway, with the Dragon Pox Curse being illegal Dark magic and thus a foolish choice to cast with an audience watching. He’d restrict the Cutting Curse and Ossio Dispersimus to limbs only… if either even worked through the dragon’s spell-resistant hide.

“These are all males past ahh… optimal breeding age. However, they are still rare and umm… wondrous creatures. Your goal is to get your princess past your dragon to safety. Without suffering injuries to yourself, or any damage to or loss of your princess.”

“What was that?” Professor Marchbanks said, tapping on the side of her ear trumpet. Scamander, who was a quiet man, repeated himself a little louder for her benefit, with a little less stammering the second time around.

“Quite right!” she agreed, after he’d finished. “Additionally, you will receive a higher score by displaying quick thinking and skilful use of spells, in terms of both the type and range used, and their successful and _useful_ execution. You will also receive a small number of bonus points for completing your task faster than your fellow contestants, though that is weighted as less important than the other factors so take your time if you need to. Wait for the bell to ring – no spellcasting ahead of time or points will be deducted.”

 _Ravenclaw_ , Harry reminded himself, and made a mental note to try and use some of the NEWT-level spells he was better at during his turn. He’d probably need them, anyway.

“And give the crowd a good show!” Bagman added. “Try and avoid being burnt or killed, of course!” He laughed and winked, but Harry wasn’t terribly amused.

 _Gryffindor_ , Harry thought. _Or an idiot. Draco would say there’s not much of a difference._ He probably wouldn’t win a lot of points from Bagman with his planned strategies, so he’d have to hope the other two gave him good scores.

Warrington – one of the senior Slytherins who’d helped Harry with his researching in preparation for the Tournament – had told him that Marchbanks would likely give more points for silent spellcasting, but Harry hadn’t managed to get the knack of it at _all_ yet. In fact, he’d made better progress with wandless casting, which was supposed to be harder (though Ambrosius disagreed, being used to a style of spellcasting more reliant on chants and rituals and less based on utilising a powerful focus for channelling spells). Being able to whisper spells, or cast a flickering Wand-Lighting Charm without a wand in his hand, probably wasn’t going to cut it fighting a dragon, though. If Harry dropped his wand he knew it’d definitely be easier and faster to simply pick it up again than to cast a shaky wandless Summoning Charm of dubious reliability.

With no more questions or tips forthcoming, except that they’d see their ‘princess’ in her tower upon entering the Quidditch stadium, and the news that the stands had apparently been temporarily enchanted for the crowd’s safety, the judges shooed each champion to a separate room in the tent, sequestered away from each other to await their call to glory or fiery doom.

-000-

The next hour and a half seemed to simultaneously both drag interminably slowly and be over in the blink of an eye, and Harry was eventually retrieved from his seclusion by none other than Charlie Weasley. He was then led through the wooden gates to an amazing roar of excitement from students, staff, and assorted guests in the four Quidditch stands. The stands looked even more packed than usual, with what looked like some adult guests squashed in amongst the hundreds of students, and Harry couldn’t spot any of his friends apart from Luna. She stood out in the front row of the Ravenclaw stand due to her enormous lion-head hat which let out a tremendous roar as he entered that could be heard even above the din of cheers.

The leonine roar was echoed by the forty-foot dark olive-green dragon chained up in the middle of the Quidditch arena, as it stretched its thick neck to the sky and bellowed its anger to the crowd, who cheered even louder in excitement. It reared up on its hind legs with wings outstretched for balance, displaying its yellow clawed talons and tossing its hornless head threateningly.

“Ambrosius, if your spirit ever actually listens to people’s calls and helps people, now would be a great time to watch over me,” Harry muttered, as the dragon flapped up into the air and let out a small gout of fire in the direction of the Ravenclaw stand. “Merlin, protect me from the dragon.” He’d try to remember to ask Ambrosius later if he heard people saying his name. If he survived this.

Charlie Weasley clapped him on the back, making Harry jump and point his wand at him. Charlie grinned. “You’ll do fine. Remember, red sparks if you need us. Wait in this rope circle on the ground until the bell sounds – no spellcasting until then.” He walked off to join some other fit-looking wizards and witches ringing the edge of the arena who were similarly clad in old, scarred leather tunics and trousers.

Harry stood obediently in his starting spot, let out a deep breath, and tried to calm his mind with the sights, smells, and sounds of a peaceful ocean shore as he looked around.

The formerly pristine grassy arena was now marred with long swathes of burnt turf and gouged earth, presumably from the other competitors’ efforts. A few logs and boulders had been placed in the area and might provide possible cover for someone trying to sneak past the dragon. One of the logs closer to the dragon was already on fire, however, and was still smouldering. Harry would avoid that one.

The dragon was secured by a thick leather collar which had a chain leading to a tremendous metal peg in the ground. On the far side of the rearing dragon was a square, fenced stone enclosure; the crenelated six foot high walls reminded Harry vaguely of Hogwarts, and the school crest was emblazoned on the wooden gate at the front, lest there be any doubt about how it was supposed to represent Hogwarts castle.

The green medical tent was set up at a safe distance behind the mock Hogwarts, and Harry felt a little reassured to see the now-familiar blazon of a glowing lime-green snake wound around the Rod of Asclepius.

The judges and Heads of the schools were in the front row of the Hufflepuff stand, which had perhaps the best view of the action. They were all watching the field with Omnioculars, which judging by the dozens of pinprick glints of reflected sunlight off glass seemed a popular choice amongst others in the crowd, too.

Safely away from the dragon and fairly close to Harry was a narrow wooden platform raised up high on a pole, with a rope ladder leading up to the top. It looked a bit like a tree house, minus the leafy top. The platform at the top had a crenelated fence, and Harry’s ‘princess’ paced in fear at the noise from the dragon and the crowd. She also let out a loud bleating “baa”. His ‘princess’ was a white sheep, with a conical bright pink princess hat with a small trailing veil magically affixed to the top of her fluffy head.

“It’s a sheep,” Harry said, blinking in surprise. Okay, he could do this. He’d planned for an inanimate dummy, but he could adapt.

A loud bell rang, and Harry leapt into action to the tremendous cheers of the crowd. He hoped they wouldn’t be disappointed by his plan, which leant more towards Slytherin tactics than Gryffindor ones.

“ _Accio sheep_ ,” he incanted softly, pointing at the rickety tower. The sheep didn’t budge.

“ _Wingardium Leviosa_ ,” he tried next, and was similarly unsuccessful. The sheep didn’t so much as twitch in his direction – it was probably warded against that. Or the tower was. Damn. Still, it had been worth a try. He’d have to climb the ladder to retrieve his princess.

“Zat was good tentatives at ze Summoning Charm and ze Levitation Charm. A similar start to Monsieur Krum, and just as unsuccessful.” A woman’s loud voice boomed out over the stadium, and her accent was unmistakeable – Madame Maxime was commentating on his task with a Sonorus, just like Lee Jordan did for Quidditch matches.

“ _Celoro_ ,” Harry said confidently, incanting in lightly altered Latin as he twirled his wand and tapped himself on the head. He’d been practising this charm since second year, and the cold trickling sensation over his skin told him that it’d worked perfectly.

“A very fine Disillusionment Charm! Zat ASPIC spell is well above ‘is level,” Madame Maxime said, sounding surprised. “You will ‘ave to watch for le flou… euh… ze _blurring_ to see ‘im now.”

With the dragon thoroughly distracted for the moment by the cheering crowd, Harry was optimistic that the charm would help him sneak around. It wouldn’t be enough on its own to get him past the dragon with a sheep, however, for dragons had an excellent sense of smell. However, he had a plan for that, too.

Harry dashed over to the tower and climbed up the ladder, to some commentary from Madame Maxime about the rungs of the ladder being seen to shake as he climbed. The fluffy sheep at the top bleated as he climbed onto its platform and wiggled about slightly but didn’t move an inch. Harry was pretty sure its hooves were stuck fast with a Sticking Charm. There was a slatted wooden fence around the border of the platform, with the tops of the wooden boards carved into a decorative crenelated pattern, however, it wouldn’t be high enough to stop a determined and panicked sheep from trying to scramble over the edge, potentially plummeting to its doom.

“ _Aparecium_ ,” Harry cast, looking for invisible runes. Around the rim of the sheep’s pink silk conical hat, a string of faintly glowing runes shimmered into view. A smaller number appeared on the corner posts of the platform’s fence – those were obviously for fire resistance, with Sowilō and Algiz linked together. The runes on the hat were more complex, and Harry didn’t have time for a full analysis. He spotted the reversed form of Raido which would _prevent_ a safe journey, and lots of protective runes linked and chained to Fehu for sheep or livestock. He was pretty sure the sheep was protected from a number of transformative spells. At the very least, successfully casting spells on it would be more challenging, and take a lot of trial and error.

What he _didn’t_ see was anything protecting the hat itself. He’d have to work quickly before the sheep panicked.

“ _Diffindo_ ,” Harry started, trying to carefully cut through the pink ribbon holding the hat snugly on the sheep’s head. It didn’t work, however, probably due to the protective runes.

“ _Evanesco_ ,” he incanted, vanishing a portion of the ribbon with precision. “ _Finite incantatem_.” Together that did the trick – with the ribbon severed and a Sticking Charm undone, the conical silk hat toppled off the sheep’s head.

Before the sheep could do more than scramble slightly with a clatter of hooves, Harry shot off a strong Stunning Spell. “ _Stupefy!_ ”

The sheep was hit squarely by the jet of red light, and fell to the ground with a soft thump, out cold.

“Poor Princess ‘Ogwarts! Ze Severing Charm did not work on ze ribbon, ‘owever, she ‘as lost ‘er pretty ‘at to a Vanishing Charm and General Counter-Spell, and been knocked out by ze Stunning Spell!” boomed Madame Maxime. “Zis is no gentleman-prince zat comes to ‘er rescue today. More like ze thief in ze night!”

 _Alright, that’s fair_ , Harry mentally admitted, with a wince. _But I’ve got a better chance of keeping her alive this way._

Harry had planned his next few spells on the presumption that he’d be carting around a dummy, but so long as he didn’t make an error with the Shrinking Charm (which could be unsafe for living creatures if cast incorrectly) the spells should still be fine for a sheep.

“ _Pluma obol, silencio, reducio_ ,” Harry incanted, making the sheep feather-light and silenced (just in case it woke up while he was sneaking about). He also successfully reduced it to the size of a cat (much to his relief). He picked up the miniaturised unconscious sheep and held it against his chest as he cast a Sticking Charm. That would keep Princess Hogwarts safe with him, while leaving his hands free for spellcasting. He thought it was a great plan… so long as some of the charms didn’t wear off before the end of the task, anyway. It’d be bad to suddenly have a heavy sheep stuck to his chest and frantic to get away.

One more spell before he tried to get past the dragon – it wouldn’t do to have it spot a tiny sheep floating suspiciously in mid-air, so it needed to be disillusioned too. “ _Celoro_.”

He scrambled back down the ladder to the accompaniment of narration of his recent spells, with the miniaturised sheep stuck to his chest like it was in an invisible baby carrier. The pungent, musky smell of the wool right under his nose was irritating but not unbearable.

Safe on the ground – for now – Harry looked ahead to the dragon, and the wooden mock-up of Hogwarts beyond it. The Romanian Longhorn was roaming around to the maximum extent permitted by the chain around its neck that tethered it to the ground, breathing out occasional gouts of fire to the delighted shrieks of the crowd. Flames licked at the bases of the Quidditch stands, thankfully without effect due to enchantments on the stands, backed up by some extra spellcasting from the dragon handlers. There would be no sneaking around it – Harry would have to pass through its territory to get Princess Hogwarts to safety. He had a plan, and a back-up plan too, but just in case both failed he wanted some additional protection from being burnt alive.

He waved his wand around his head, and then cast the same spell on the sheep too, for good measure. “ _Incendio reicio!_ ” he said strongly, wanting this charm to be as powerful as possible.

“Zat flash of white light you saw was ze Flame-Freezing Charm!” Madame Maxime narrated over the top of the cheering crowd, sounding more impressed by his latest spell than some of the others, which were admittedly pretty basic. “I did not sink it is taught at ‘Ogwarts now, but it was very useful in ze witch hunts. But will it be enough to protect Monsieur Potter and ‘is princess against ze dragon?”

Disillusioned, Harry jogged closer to the dragon, hoping to get past it without incident. So far, his charms were holding up and as he passed the halfway mark his heart hammered wildly as he dashed past the dragon, at a cautious distance. However, he wasn’t safe yet, for the dragon stopped its futile roaring at the crowd and its nostrils flared as it scented the air. Its feet thudded to the ground as it finished its rearing display of wings and missing horns – it went temporarily silent, a predator on a hunt. Harry couldn’t help but notice how tremendously _sharp_ its golden claws looked, as they gouged the earth. Its toothy maw looked easily big enough to swallow him in a single gulp.

Despite Harry looking like more than a shimmer of heat haze in the air, the dragon’s great green head turned in Harry’s direction. It huffed, and sniffed, and began lumbering towards him.

 _Don’t panic_ , Harry told himself frantically. _Time for the backup plan. As quietly as possible._ He wished he’d mastered silent spellcasting. He’d just have to whisper.

“ _Fumos_ ,” he cast quietly, and a great gout of grey smoke spewed out of his wand to encircle him, leaving a smoke-free hole in the middle where he stood. The dragon wouldn’t be able to see him now, but more importantly, the ashy smell of the smoke should confuse its sense of smell. The downside of this plan was of course that he now couldn’t see where the dragon was. Harry had tried to find spells that hid one’s natural scent, but without success. The cleaning charms he’d found that were used on people had a tendency to leave behind a scent of soap, lavender, or roses. Hexing the dragon’s nose would be unlikely to work due to its spell-resistant hide, so scent-bombing the area with smoke to confuse it was Harry’s best plan.

“ _Finite_.” Harry took care casting the General Counter-Spell on himself, removing his Disillusionment Charm without disturbing the charms on the sheep. He had to reapply the Flame-Freezing Charm, however, as that had been stripped off too. “ _Incendio Reicio!_ ” The crowd cheered to see Harry reappear, but they didn’t get to see him for too long, as he dashed off blindly into the cloud of smoke. He hoped Bagman wouldn’t make him down too much for doing the exact opposite of putting on a ‘good show’.

Hopefully the noise of the crowd would stop the dragon from hearing his murmured spellcasting, his gasping breaths, or his footsteps. Somehow, Madame Maxime was still able to discern what he was saying. That must be one good eavesdropping charm!

“Zat is interesting! I wonder why Monsieur Potter ‘as taken down ‘is Disillusionment Charm. Ze Flame-Freezing Charm ‘as been cast again.”

Harry estimated he still had a quarter of the way to go to reach the mock castle that was his finish line, when the dragon tired of the smoke obscuring its vision. With tremendous flaps of its bat-like wings, powerful gusts of wind started dispersing Harry’s smoke.

 _It could have been worse_ , Harry thought. _I’m just glad it didn’t try to **burn** the smoke away_.

He cast a quick spell on himself that he’d left to the last minute as its duration was still unimpressive. He hadn’t practised it as much as he should since he’d made it up with Ambrosius’ help but had been drilling in it in private since he’d been picked for the Tournament.

“ _Transvorto visagus_ ,” he cast, twirling his wand in an upwards spiral from the ground to his head. He dropped to his hands and knees, and as the smoke cleared the crowd – and the Romanian Longhorn – could see what he looked like now.

A small olive-green baby dragon with tiny nubs of golden horns was walking awkwardly across the field. Harry couldn’t make the glamour perfect, but so long as the adult dragon wasn’t too suspicious about his awkward gait (since underneath the illusion he was actually crawling on hands and knees) it might be enough. He didn’t need to fool it forever, just long enough to reach safety.

Romanian Longhorns weren’t the best parents. When their young were old enough to hunt on their own, the parents would drive their children out of their territory. However, they would never harm a hatchling or very young Longhorn. It was an instinct that Harry was hoping would protect him for just a few critical minutes as he frantically crawled to safety.

 _Please don’t breathe fire, please don’t breathe fire_ , he thought over and over, as he scrambled over the ground, trying not to let ‘Princess Hogwarts’ bump the ground.

“Do you know zat spell, Monsieur Dumbledore? ...No? Monsieur Karkaroff? …Well, zat is new to us all here. Some kind of glamour or illusion charm, I sink, rather zan a transfiguration. ‘E makes a beautiful leettle dragon, does ‘e not?”

The crowd cheered its approval, and a repetitive chant of “Go little dragon!” started up in the Hufflepuff stand, and many students quickly added a repetitive clap to the rhythm of the words. Soon the chant and clapping spread to the rest of the audience.

“GO LITTLE DRAGON!”

The adult Longhorn _did_ breathe fire, but not in Harry’s direction. After some curious huffing and a low rumbling noise directed at him, it lumbered towards him for a moment, making Harry’s heart beat frantically as he curled up on the ground trying to look as inoffensive and dragon-like as possible. His wand was at the ready to cast protective spells against a possible blast of flames, hidden by his glamour.

The crowd screamed in excitement and second-hand fear as the dragon moved towards Harry – he was in its range now, so close he could make out the pattern of its scales. It didn’t seem to have the aggressive body language as it approached him that Harry had read about, however; it didn’t look ready to pounce, thought the crowd clearly feared it would. Harry feared it too but tried to stay confident in his conclusions and not panic. Moving would be the worst thing to do right now; he didn’t want to look like prey if it _was_ perceptive enough to realise he wasn’t really a hatchling.

While Harry didn’t seem to be deemed a threat to it, it was, however, growing irritated by the noise of the crowd. It turned its back on Harry and spread its wings threateningly as it roared its defiance to the noisy crowd, breathing a threatening gout of flame into the sky.

 _It’s working! It’s even trying to protect me!_ Harry thought with delight and relief. Seizing the moment of distraction, he shakily scrambled the last couple of hundred metres to safety, heart still pounding in his chest like a drum.

At last he reached the mock castle where he needed to deposit his ‘princess’. The stone enclosure looked magically manufactured when seen close-up – the bricks were just a pattern on the surface of transfigured stone, rather than actual blocks. The wooden gate at the front was locked, but a quick Unlocking Charm got him in easily enough, and he closed the gate behind him.

Harry cast a quick “Finite” on himself to remove his illusionary appearance, and then wondered how to safely reverse the charms on his fluffy princess. He lay down on the grass on his side before casting a General Counter-Spell, which simultaneously enlarged the sheep back to its regular size and detached the sheep from being stuck to his chest.

“ _Rennervate!_ ” he incanted as he stood up, waking up his ‘princess’.

A loud bell sounded with a deep clang, and there was a final explosion of cheering, whistles, and applause. His first task was over, and Harry didn’t think he could feel any happier as he waved up at the crowd. This was a Patronus-worthy moment to cherish.

-000-

After a quick check-up from Madam Pomfrey, who fussed over Harry and healed the minor scrapes on his hands and knees, Harry went up to the judges to receive his score. Each judge had up to thirty points each to allocate, and an additional potential ten points were available depending on how quickly he’d completed the challenge. As he’d been the second fastest competitor after Krum, Harry was awarded seven points for speed, starting off his score out of a hundred.

“Marvellous work today, you demonstrated a good range of spells including a new glamour spell that I would love to learn myself,” Mr. Scamander said, his soft voice enhanced by a Sonorus. “Importantly, you ah… achieved your objective and in the process did no harm whatsoever to a frightened, endangered creature. You displayed superior knowledge of dragons and their behaviour, to your advantage. I award you twenty-five points out of thirty.”

Amidst the cheers, Harry overheard an excited Hufflepuff nearby shouting, “That beats Krum!”

Professor Marchbanks went next. “Mr. Potter, your range of spells was indeed good, and your Disllusionment Charm was particularly well cast. Your invented charm was superb. Unfortunately, you did not cast silently, which would have worked to your advantage during your attempt to sneak past the dragon.

“You should note that some spell selections were ill-advised. In particular the Flame-Freezing Charm was a risky choice. It would have ameliorated the effects of dragon fire somewhat but would still have left you badly burnt. Your Summoning Charm, had it been successful, may have left Princess Hogwarts badly injured, or yourself, as she crashed into you. Your removal of her enchanted hat was highly strategic but against the spirit of the challenge; your rivals left their sheep’s hats in place. Nonetheless, it was overall an excellent effort for a young lad, and I award you seventeen points out of thirty.”

There was less cheering this time, some grumbles of discontent, and a few unsportsmanlike boos. Harry wanted to explain that he wasn’t going to _only_ rely on the Flame-Freezing Charm if the dragon breathed on him. He’d practiced overpowering the Freezing Charm – Glacius – and some variant Shield Charms too, but it was a bit pointless to try and argue when he’d already been given a score, and it was all hypothetical anyway.

Ludo Bagman rubbed his plump hands together eagerly as he took his turn. “Mr. Potter, I think we can all be proud of how you did today! The enchanted hats that stymied your competition in transporting their respective princesses were easily fixed by your cutting of the Gordian knot! I believe that was an inspired solution, and the challenge was after all to get your princess to safety, with no mention of her millinery! Excellent spellcasting, no injuries to yourself, your princess, or even your dragon! I award you… twenty-eight points!”

After an explosion of cheers, and a spot of quick maths, Bagman continued, “That gives Hogwarts’ champion a total of seventy-seven points, putting Hogwarts into second place just a whisker behind Durmstrang!”

Professor Marchbanks handed Harry what looked like a golden egg, with hinges in the middle. “Inside this golden egg is your second clue, which will help you prepare for the second of your four tasks which will take place on the twenty-fourth of February. Open it later, and for now enjoy celebrating with your friends!”

-000-

Potter Watch had – under Peregrine’s direction – reserved the club room for the remainder of the afternoon and evening, in optimistic hopes of celebrating Harry’s success in the first task. Making it through unscathed and in second place was enough to satisfy his fans, and the room was packed full of jubilant students eager to congratulate Harry and enjoy the spread of cakes, fruit, and pumpkin juice supplied by excited house-elves (including Dobby, who seemed to have invited himself along), and a range of enchanted sweets being spruiked by the Weasley twins. In fact, the room was so full they had to start turning people away at the door.

Harry’s closest friends crowded around him to talk over the first task, allowing a trickle of well-wishers to stop by to greet Harry.

“How did Krum do in the task? What did he do to win?” Harry asked Hermione loudly, over the din. He shook someone’s hand absent-mindedly as they congratulated him on his performance in the first task.

“He tried casting a spell on his sheep to slow its fall – which wore a little historically inaccurate Viking hat with pointed horns, by the way – and then tried summoning it like you did, but it didn’t work. Dumbledore said it was a logical approach-”

“He was doing commentary?” Harry asked, giving a Lockhart-grin and a passing thanks to someone else who wanted to say congratulations.

“Yes, and Karkaroff did the commentary for Delacour’s attempt. So, as I was saying, Krum went up the ladder fast after his Summoning Charm didn’t work, unstuck his ‘princess’ and put a leash on her, then _leapt_ off the tower and floated to the ground with a silent spell. Dumbledore was very polite about Krum’s attempt, all the way through. He said that Arresto Momentum is a life-saving spell in Quidditch matches used often during practices, and best cast silently like Krum did due to the length of the incantation.”

“He was quite the show-off!” Pansy grumbled, around a mouth full of chocolate cake. “It was terrifying, and unnecessary. It impressed Marchbanks, however, and Bagman loved it. He gave high scores to everyone, actually.”

Hermione jumped back in with her recount as soon as Pansy took another bite of cake. “Krum transfigured a large number of rocks into sheep, and the Welsh Green chased them while he sprinted for the enclosure, pulling his sheep along behind him. The dragon went for him at one point, though, and he cast a Conjunctivitis Curse on it, which made its eyes swell shut. He also cast a transfiguration on the ground that made spikes of rock spear up from the earth – the dragon _hated_ that. It was like walking on thumb tacks while completely blind, I guess!”

“Scamander marked Krum down for injuring his dragon,” Draco said, sliding into place next to Pansy. “Your score was the highest he gave, Harry.”

“Marchbanks gave her highest score to Krum, and Bagman gave high scores to everyone, so his influence on the results was fairly minimal in the end,” Hermione said.

“Someone said Delacour was injured?” Harry said leadingly. “What was her strategy?”

“Her sheep wore a beret,” Daphne said, with a grin. “She made _such_ a face when she saw it.”

“She focused mostly on mind-affecting spells,” Hermione said. “Calming and Feather-light Charms on her sheep, and Confundus and a couple of powerful sleeping charms on the dragon. It worked, but not for as long as she expected, and her Shield Charm didn’t block all of the dragon’s fire when it breathed on her. So she and her princess got a bit singed, but she still managed to get it to the enclosure in the end.”

“Hey, does anyone know how Madame Maxime knew what I was casting?”

“I do!” Neville volunteered eagerly. “I asked Professor McGonagall, and she said you’d all been given a miniature dragon that was enchanted to transmit sound to a speaker in front of the judges.”

“Oh!” Harry said, digging in his school robe pocket. “I forgot about that. Hey Draco, would you like it, for your collection?”

Draco perked up at hearing the offer and happily took the little animated figurine. It stretched its neck and shook its golden-horned head, as he accepted it from Harry. “Isn’t it beautiful? Thank you so much, Harry. I will have to get the Wireless Charm taken off of course, if it has not worn off already. Lovely, just gorgeous.” He cooed over the craftsmanship of the figurine for a while and admired the coloration of the dragon.

“Harry, you _have_ to teach me your new glamour spell! _Please?_ ” Hermione insisted, tacking on the courtesy at the end of her demand.

“Sure, I will,” he promised.

“Speaking of Wireless Charms, did you know that the task narration went out on the Wizarding Wireless?” Pansy asked, ignoring Hermione’s interjection

“No, I-” Harry started, but was interrupted.

Across the room from amidst a cluster of senior students, Angelina Johnson let out a shrill, piercing whistle, while made the hubbub dim for a moment. “Hey Potter! Let’s hear what the next clue is! How about you open up the egg?!”

Her suggestion was met with general approval, and a chorus of agreement.

“Second task!”

“Let’s hear it!”

“We’ve got your back, Potter! Hogwarts for the win!”

“Quiet, everyone! Let Potter read it out!” Johnson yelled, and the room hushed as Harry fished the egg out from his robe and cautiously prised open the hinged lid.

The most terrible cacophony issued forth from the hollow metal egg, as a loud and screechy wailing filled the room. It sounded like a cross between a scream and a tortured violin.

“Shut it!” bellowed one of the Weasley twins, with his hands over his ears.

“That sounded like a banshee!” Finnegan said. “Maybe you have to fight one of those next!”

“No, it was someone being tortured,” Neville said, his face white.

“That wouldn’t be a task, though,” Hermione said, patting Neville comfortingly on his arm.

“Maybe it’s broken?” Mafalda suggested. “You could give it a shake, and try opening it again?”

Harry thought it was worth a try, but it didn’t change the resulting screech, which sounded the same as before.

The Revealing Charm showed some runes magically imprinted on the engraved metal. “We’ve got some runes here, if anyone good at Ancient Runes wants to help me figure them out!” Harry called.

A cluster of eager assistants pushed forwards to join Harry and Hermione in examining the egg, including Daphne, Tracey, Theodore, and Anthony. Tamsin Applebee, the Head Girl, turned out to be a whiz at Ancient Runes, and she and Fawcett from Ravenclaw quickly dominated the discussion. Hermione switched from babbling excitedly to listening eagerly to the two senior girls’ speculations.

“We have got some Ogham here around the middle; Ór and Nion, representing gold and a fork or division, if I remember my Ogham kennings correctly,” Applebee said.

“Yes, that’s right!” Fawcett agreed eagerly. “Look, there’s also nGéadal chained to it as well, and the rune goes across the groove where it opens, so it only activates when the egg is closed.”

“NGéadal… killing?” Applebee said thoughtfully. “So, it stops the noise when it is shut? The default charm has the sound play constantly, but when the severed rune is repaired, the noise is killed?”

“Exactly! Now look, under the filigree at the top there’s some Futhark,” Fawcett said. “Hard to read though. The creator has hidden those on purpose.”

“Hieroglyphs too, they really used everything on this, didn’t they? It’s a wonder the rune systems aren’t clashing. They must have really taken their time on this egg. Let’s see, there’s a sistrum… fishing net… and what’s that one on the end?” Applebee mused, pointing to the third and last tiny Egyptian hieroglyph enclosed in the oval cartouche.

“Scribe equipment,” Harry volunteered, eliciting an impressed murmur from the watching crowd.

Applebee grinned delightedly at him. “Yes! That would be it. So, the hieroglyphs say we’ve got music that’s been trapped, and recorded.”

“Does that tell us anything new?” Harry asked.

Applebee and Fawcett both shrugged. “Not really,” Fawcett said.

“It tells us the recording is working as intended,” Theodore suggested. “That the egg is _supposed_ to play a musical noise when opened and stop when shut. So, the clue is in the noise itself.”

“It’s interesting they used the fishing net hieroglyph,” Fawcett mused. “I would have linked the sistrum with a bird trap, for the airy nature of music and birds. More complementary.”

“Perhaps it clashed with the other runes,” Applebee suggested.

They all talked over the runes a bit more, trying to peek at the hidden Futhark runes without much success or consensus on which ones they were, as only the bottom stems could be glimpsed poking out from under the filigree covering. Without being able to see the whole runes, they could only do things like speculate as to whether a straight line at the bottom meant a rune was Algiz or Laguz, and rule out runes with distinctive bottom halves like Daguz which they were sure _weren’t_ used. They did manage to narrow it down to Elder Futhark and identified one rune for certain – Naudiz.

“Need or hardship,” Hermione mused. “‘Constraint gives scant choice…’ I think it’s setting some requirement… a trigger. But we can’t tell what without knowing what it’s linked to.”

The recording was replayed a few times (a few students not so coincidentally decided they’d had enough partying, around that time), until Hermione was certain that the screeching was repeating in a noticeable pattern.

Eventually after a mix of much feasting, partying, and studying of the egg clue, Applebee was the one who called a halt to the evening. “Curfew for the junior students! We are only booked until this time, so everyone get moving before the teachers have to step in or we prefects have to dock points. Senior students, please set a good example and escort the younger students back home. Badgers, let’s go!”

The party broke up obediently, and Harry headed back to the Gryffindor dormitories with a crowd of fellow lions.

On the way there, Midgen pulled Neville aside for a quick chat, and then Neville subsequently approached Harry.

“Midgen says she has a good idea about deciphering the egg, but she doesn’t want everyone listening in,” Neville whispered, leaning in close. “So, we should meet her tomorrow morning by the lake before breakfast.”

Harry perked up. Any lead would be a good one, as he hadn’t found the recorded cacophony of wails as helpful and straightforward as the clue for the first task had been. “Tell her thanks, and we’ll see her tomorrow if I can get away from everyone.”

Neville nodded. “I shall play owl and let her know.”

As they went through the hidden entrance to the Gryffindor dorm, a wave of cheers greeted Harry.

“Surprise! Gryffindor after-party!” yelled the Weasley twins in unison.

Harry supressed a tired wince and plastered on another smile. It _was_ nice to be appreciated, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! I hope you enjoyed my revamp of the first task and found it sufficiently dramatic. The flapping of butterfly wings has seen a lot of changes. With Percy in charge of his department, and new judges coming in with their own opinions, some changes – both large and small – were made to the Tournament and the now four tasks. Newt Scamander was not happy with the original plan to endanger nesting mother dragons and their eggs in the Triwizard Tournament, so there was some frantic redesigning of the first task behind the scenes. Marchbanks wanted a fairer points-based assessment to determine the winner of each task and the overall Tournament.  
> Syed – Thank you for your discussion of Voldemort’s interest in Harry’s studies.  
> ASPIC – These are the French NEWTS. The abbreviation stands for: Accumulation de Sorcellerie Particulièrement Intensive et Contraignante (Accumulation of Particularly Intensive and Exhausting Wizarding). ‘Aspic’ in French can mean a type of small poisonous viper. Thanks again to Stefan Bathory for help with French.

**Author's Note:**

> Do not repost this work. If you see my work anywhere else than my own account on AO3 or fanfiction dot net, it has been reposted without permission.  
> This story is complete at 40 chapters, and updates with a new chapter every Tuesday and Friday morning, 8-10AM AEST.


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